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ELEONORE. 


9 


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B L B O N O R E. 


AFTER THE GERMAN 


OF 



E. VON ROTHEN F EL 


Xruge."rslelDerb j EI Vo 


BY 


FRANCES ELIZABETH BENNETT, 


TRANSLATOR OP “ LOWLY WATS.” 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
18 72 . 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


ELEONORE. 


I. 

Here I was in the old castle at Rutwltz, of which I 
had heard so much, and which was now to be my home. 
My only companions were an old invalid aunt and her 
gray-haired domestics, who united with their mistress in 
treating me like a spoiled child, for whom they did not 
exactly know what playthings to provide, — me, Eleonore 
Soltendorf, a full-grown young lady, in my own opinion, 
and, as I was assured, a most gratifying result of the 
finishing system of Madame St. Aubin, whose school I 
had just left. This view of myself was a natural conse- 
quence of the training I had received in that celebrated 
institution. Elegant manners were considered there the 
one thing needful in this world, and a knowledge of 
the latest etiquette all the education one could desire. 
Madame’s sole aim was to return her pupils to the pater- 
nal roof accomplished ladies of society, and the praises 
bestowed upon the graceful creatures of her fashioning 
showed that in this she was not unsuccessful. 

I was anything but the simple, artless girl that my 
years would indicate. Thought and imagination were 
filled with matters belonging to the colder atmosphere of 
mature womanhood. I fully realized I was an heiress, 
and that wealth is the pivot upon which the world turns. 
My prospective fortune had given me a position at school 
which I was conscious I could not otherwise have at- 
tained, and my companions there crowned money in 
my person, receiving as the reward of their flattery and 
attentions an abundance of sweetmeats and trinkets, to 
the purchase of which my liberal supply of pocket-money 

( 5 ) 


6 


ELEONORE. 


was willingly devoted. Heiresses are not generally ( 
beautiful, but my obsequious followers declared me a j 
striking exception to this rule. True, the mirror, indif- 
ferent to my large expectations, and not caring for bon- 
bons, did not wholly substantiate this opinion ; still, I 
reconciled the conflicting testimony by assuming that 
the charm of my face lay in its expression, concerning I 
which the latter faithful witness was, of course, silent, j 
So I was perfectly satisfied with my little self, except 
that that self was little, — but then I was slender and 
graceful, if not tall and imposing, and Madame said grace 
was everything. Amid such teachings and associations 
I passed several years, my fancy ever busy with the bril- 
liant career that awaited me in the gay world of society, 
the homage I should receive and the conquests I should 
make. 

When only a few days more of school restraint were 
left to me, just as all my dreams were about to become 
realities, I received a letter which threw my beautiful 
castles to the ground. It w^as from my father (or rather 
dictated by him and written by my stepmother), inform- 
ing me that in consideration of my youth it was thought 
best to leave me for a year longer in retirement, and that 
I would spend this time with my great-aunt at Rutwitz, 
a person I had never seen, and of whom I knew nothing, 
save that she resided in a retired spot in the country, 
and had had the care of my mother during her early 
years. The latter died when I was quite young, and my 
father, who w^as devotedly attached to his wife, trans- 
ferred to me the almost idolatrous aflfection of which she 
had been the object. But his profession as diplomatist 
required too frequent changes of residence for my tender 
years, and our separation became ere long a necessity. I 
was consigned to the care of an uncle, in whose family I 
lived until a few months after my father’s second mar- 
riage. This, in my childish egotism, I at first regarded 
as a cruel wrong done to myself, but the feeling soon 
passed away, and what had seemed a terrible misfortune 
proved the source of very great happiness. Strange 
to say, I had not yet seen this new mother, but her 
warm, tender letters were well calculated to win a childish 


ELEONORE. 




heart, and her fond indulgence of all my foolish wishes 
gave me the most implicit confidence in her judgment 
and affection. Only in one instance had she crossed my 
inclinations, and then the reasons she gave for the step 
so flattered my pride that I yielded with comparatively 
little reluctance. It was very hard to think of exchang- 
ing the happy home I had found with my relatives for 
a strange boarding-school, but Edith (as my stepmother 
I permitted me to call her) intimated that the advantages 
i afforded me there were insufficient for one of my rank ; 

I and my vanity caught the idea at once that I was an 
I important personage, whose education ought to be more 
pretentious than that of my simple cousins. The atmos- 
phere which I breathed at Madame St. Aubin’s served 
to increase this opinion, and I bore with tolerable resig- 
nation the systematic sundering of my former connections 
which ensued. 

Edith had become with me, gradually, the ideal of 
womanly perfection. There was scarce an excellence of 
character which I did not attribute to her, or a grace of 
person that I denied her, and the reports of others all 
tended to confirm my admiration. I had so longed to 
be with her ; and now another twelve months must pass 
before I could be satisfied. Instead of her sweet com- 
panionship, I should have to endure the society of an 
old woman, sick, and a stranger ; instead of hurrying 
from one scene of festivity to another in the bright 
world, I was condemned to immure my young life in a 
gloomy, half-dilapidated castle. It was always a gala 
day with me when her letters came. The loving words 
fell upon my soul like spring showers, while the perfume 
of the delicate paper, and the exquisite penmanship, aided 
my imagination in conjuring up the fair writer amid her 
luxurious surroundings, so soon to be mine too. I was, 
therefore, doubly saddened by the dismal intelligence con- 
tained in this epistle, and I could hardly trust my eyes as 
I read and re-read the lines. 

How^ deeply I am grieved, my sweet child,” she wrote, 
in conclusion, “ that our hopes of meeting must be so long 
deferred 1 I have tried every means to induce your father 
to rejprse this decision, but the influence I sometimes 


8 


ELEONORE. 


have with him was powerless here. I approve his jadg 
meat, but my heart is utterly rebellious. We must sub 
mit, my poor, dear Ella, and hope still that something 
will occur to soften him, — and yet not that : for he loves 
you most devotedly, and it has cost him a severe struggle 
to obey his reason instead of following the dictates of 
affection. But take courage, my little Ella, I may still 
have you in my arms before long.” 

This sympathy and hopefulness encouraged me greatly, 
and I heard with tolerable composure that my aunt was 
in the city. She was not well enough to leave the hotel, 
and sent word to me, therefore, to meet her there. Ma- 
dame, who regarded life in general as a sort of play and 
neglected no opportunity for dramatic effect, called the 
pupils together and arranged a most impressive parting. 
She made me a long speech, containing many suggestions 
as to deportment, and dwelt touchingly upon the void my 
departure would create in their midst. I was in reality 
not a little affected, and the purgatory of my school life 
brightened wonderfully when the carriage rolled away 
and I felt I had left those walls forever. I was accus- 
tomed to place too high an estimate upon externals for 
the first impression of my aunt to be a favorable one. I 
saw in her only a little, old-fashioned woman, plainly 
dressed and extremely unpretending in appearance. But 
when she spoke, the cordial tenderness that trembled in 
her tones fell upon my heart like soft music in vacant 
halls. 

“ Lora ! yes, it is Lora,” said she, deeply moved ; “ my 
Lora’s child ! Why have they kept you from me so 
long ?” And drawing me to her, she kissed my eyes and 
forehead again and again. 

For a moment I forgot everything, — her insignificance, 
my own disappointment, even Madame St. Aubin’s in- 
structions, — and, throwing my arms around her neck, 
sobbed passionately. 

“ How much you resemble your mother, Lora I” she 
continued, scanning my features closely. “ The same 
light hair and dark eyes, but — but there is something in 
your face that was not in hers. I fear you are more a 
child of the world than she. How could Edith l^e in- 


ELEONORE. 


■I 


trusted you to the care of a frivolous Frenchwomau I 
Well,” she added, after a pause, “ I am at least thankful 
to her for letting me have you a year.” 

This reflection upon Edith irritated me, and the last of 
the remark I ventured to contradict. “ It is not Edith’s 
work, my going to live with you, — she has done all she 
could to prevent it.” 

My aunt looked at me questioningly, and, without an- 
swering, arose and walked slowly to the window. It was 
plain she did not share the enthusiastic regard I enter- 
tained for my mother, and this of itself was enough to 
erect a barrier between us. But I tried to console myself 
with the reflection that it was impossible for so plain a 
person to appreciate the splendid Edith, and charitably 
concluded, on this ground, to overlook all further insinua- 
tions against her. 

We took our departure early the next morning. Al- 
though there was at this time no such network of rail- 
roads stretching over the country as now, still, we could 
have gone within a few miles of our destination by steam 
had not my aunt preferred making the journey in her own 
conveyance. This may have been because the old lady 
was accustomed to a slow way of traveling, but I am 
more inclined to think the choice was made on account 
of her old coachman’s ardent desire to see the capital. 
We were two days, therefore, in accomplishing a distance 
which ought to have taken about six hours. The carriage 
was quite in keeping with this antiquated method of jour- 
neying. It reminded one of Noah’s ark, and might have 
been b^uilt when the grandmother of my great-aunt was 
an infant. Into its capacious interior we were packed 
away, under the superintendence of Martin, the above- 
mentioned coachman, — aunt and I on the back seat, 
Louisa, the venerable waiting-maid, and the equally ven- 
erable footman, John, on the front seat, while innumer- 
able boxes and bundles were stowed away or hung up 
in every possible corner. Our progress was slow. Martin 
seemed to consider frequent stoppings necessary for the 
horses ; and as these were his first consideration, and no 
one ever interfered with his opinion in this respect, we 
spent most of the time standing still. 

A* 


10 


ELEONORE. 


The second day of our journey, as we were sitting at 
breakfast in the hotel where we had stopped for the night, 
my attention was attracted by a great uproar in the next 
room. Some choleric gentleman seemed in a great rage 
over his boots, which had not been properly cleaned ; and 
after rating the servant roundly, he concluded with the 
wish that a million thunderbolts might make way with 
every one of them. I inwardly protested against the ful- 
fillment of this benevolent desire, considering the prox- 
imity of my own person, and expected to see my aunt 
very much disturbed by the commotion. On the con- 
trary, her face brightened with a smile. 

“ My dear friend, the general I” she exclaimed. “ What 
an agreable surprise I’’ 

“That violent man a friend of yours, aunt?” I asked, 
with astonishment. 

“ Yes, my child, a very dear friend and neighbor. Gen- 
eral Werding.” 

“ And does the general often have such fits of anger as 
the one we have just overheard?” 

“Very often,” she replied, quietly. “He has a hasty 
temper, and his loud voice makes him appear more excited 
than he really is. But ring for the servant, — we must 
let him know we are here.” 

He soon made his appearance, — a stout, red-faced man, 
whose countenance still bore traces of the recent storm, 
though his eyes beamed with sunshine at sight of us. 

“ And this is the little Lora !” said he, with a familiar 
and hearty shake of the hand. “ Well, I am glad she has 
rosy cheeks and bright eyes. I don’t like these pale, 
sickly-looking creatures.” 

^ The good general could scarcely have devised a saluta- 
tion less flattering to me, since a delicate complexion was 
indispensable to the graceful, sylphlike style of beauty I 
was fond of attributing to myself. I felt insulted by his 
intended compliment, and endeavored to throw an air of 
haughty reserve into my manner; but it produced no 
impression, and he continued in the same boisterous 
fashion. 

“ How do you think you will like us, Fräulein Lora ? 
Not much company at Rutwitz for a pretty young girl. 


ELEONORE. 


11 


but perhaps we can scare up a few admirers for you. 
There is the lieutenant of dragoons, two or three country 
gentlemen, and, above all, our lion, young Waldenstein. 
You’ll have some battles to fight with the Wiudhems, of 
course ; but we can rout them, — we’ll come off conquerors, 
Fräulein Lora 1” And the old man made the breakfast 
things rattle with the jar of his laughter. 

My aunt, I saw, did not approve the prospect thus 
opened before me. She shook her head several times 
during this speech, and tried to interrupt him ; but the 
soft notes of a flute might as well have struggled for a 
hearing with a noisy kettle-drum. 

“ No I ” he exclaimed again, when he had recovered his 
voice, “ you shall have a good time, don’t be afraid I If 
this amiable lady here keeps you too strictly at home, 
I will come with the young people, storm the castle, and 
set you at liberty I” 

I was just beginning to fear he would go off in a fresh 
spasm of mirth, when a servant came and summoned him 
away. As disgusted as I was by the rudeness of this 
old soldier, the little episode served to divert my thoughts 
and dissipate somewWt my doleful anticipations of the 
future. It was almost night when we reached Rutwitz. 
Bright lights and cheerful voices greeted us at the door 
of the old mansion, and the whole household crowded 
around us to express their joy at my aunt’s safe arrival 
and to give me a respectful welcome. She took me to my 
room herself that night, and I slept soundly, with no 
prophetic dream to give warning of what lay before me. 


II- 

I FOUND my aunt the next morning reclining on the 
sofa, pale and suffering,— even the short journey of the 
day before had been too much for her strength. It was 
impossible to be insensible to the sacrifice she had made 
for me, and yet I was so taken up with thoughts of myself 
that I could not feel very grateful for it. What was there 


12 


ELEONORE. 


in this place to save me from utter stagnation and de- 
spair? A certain bitterness against my father, who had 
condemned me to such a fate, arose within me, and a 
sentimental pity for myself, which sent the tears into my 
eyes. My aunt, at least, was not the indifferent person 
I had supposed ; for, observing my sorrowful looks, she 
said, with a kindly smile, — 

“ Poor child ! you hardly know what to do with your- 
self in this lonesome old house ; but try and bear it for a 
little while. You will have a companion of your own 
age before long, I hope I” 

I looked up eagerly. 

“ The young lady ought to have been here before this, 
and I do not understand the reason of the delay. I have 
felt from the first that this was not the place for you to 
spend a year, and only consented to the plan on condition 
that you should not be left alone. Edith took it upon 
herself to make all necessary arrangements, and wrote to 
me several weeks ago that she had succeeded in securing 
a delightful person in Florence, who needed assistance, 
and would be glad of the position.” 

“ Do you know Edith, aunt ?” I asked, with some 
surprise. 

“ Yes, — the family used to live near us. They were 
not very — that is, their circumstances were embarrassed 
and the father was obliged to sell his estate and re- 
move to Switzerland, where the two daughters were 
educated for governesses. They were both very beau- 
tiful, and, I think, both knew it. The eldest died in a 
short time, while Edith was introduced to your father, I 
fear, through my instrumentality, and soon after became 
his wife.” 

The tone in which this was said did not tend to elevate 
the old lady in my estimation, and 1 cut short the inter- 
view by requesting permission to inspect my new home. 

The castle was not large, but angularly built, and 
full of labyrinthic passages, out-of-the-way corners, and 
mysterious recesses. Its exterior reminded one of the 
wrinkles on an old face, while the inside showed that it 
had grown to its present form and proportions through 
successive additions made according to the comfort or 


ELEONORE. 


13 


pleasure of its several occupants, and without regard to 
any prevailing law of beauty. My aunt, for years, had 
^ received no company, and the only rooms in use were 
I a parlor, dinmg-room, and her own chamber. The rest 
^ stood deserted and silent, with that uncomfortable, almost 
^.ghostly, atmosphere about them so common to places 
wTjich life has ceased to frequent. This incomprehen- 
sible sympathy between the animate and the inanimate, 
this inter-communion of spirit and matter, prevails every- 
where, so that even the walls and furniture of our houses 
seem endowed with consciousness and individuality. 

As I wandered through these solitary halls. Sir Walter 
> Scott’s Edgard came to my mind, and I tried to imagine 
myself his feminine counterpart, to find in my situation 
some touch of the tragico-romantic. But every thing was 
so carefully preserved, so orderly disposed, that the most 
vivid imagination could discover about it no melancholy 
charm. The tall chairs and high-backed sofas, covered 
with gray linen, had rather a look of sleep}^ repose, — the 
crystal and bronze of the chandeliers twinkled through 
the thick veil of gauze in the same drowsy fashion ; 
and the mirrors, under their heavy hangings, were too 
lazy to reflect what passed before them. I hurried 
away from the somnolent company as fast as possible 
and returned to my room, not much enlivened by my 
explorations. 

This, however, was light and cheerful, and the pros- 
pect from my windows, if not grand, w^as very attractive. 
The castle stood in one of those fertile valleys which 
border the tributaries of the Saale, where the whole 
landscape, checkered by vineyards, meadows, corn-fields, 
and fruit-orchards, seems like one luxuriant garden. A 
chain of little hills beyond served as a background for 
the picture, and framed it prettily on one side, while the 
other faded off into misty indistinctness of outline, and 
was lost in the distance. The thick walls made of each 
window-seat a little alcove, where one could recline in 
indolent enjoyment of the view, shut out from the rest 
of the room by the heavy curtains that fell in front. I 
christened the pleasantest of these my dream-chamber, 
and established it at once as a favorite place of resort. 

2 


14 


ELEONORE. 


I did not see my aunt again until dinner, and she met 
me then with a strange question about a Baron Kollner. 

‘‘I do not know such a person,” I replied, ‘‘and never, 
to my recollection, heard the narpe.” 

“ Then I do not understand it at all,” said she. “ He 
has been here during my absence, expressed surprise at 
finding me still away, and inquired particularly whether 
you were to return with me. Since not even my friends 
knew the object of my journey, I concluded he was some 
acquaintance of yours.” 

It was pretty evident that the visit of this stranger 
concerned me, and the mystery which surrounded his 
coming furnished food for a great variety of romantic 
speculation on my part ; but my aunt appeared troubled 
by it, and when, a few days after, General Werding came 
to see us, almost her first question was with regard to the 
unknown visitor. 

The general looked at me, gave a sly wink, and burst 
out laughing. 

Some boarding-school admirer, eh, Fräulein Lora ?” 
said he, with a familiarity that quite shocked me. 

“ I never heard of him until I came here,” 1 replied, 
blushing scarlet, — “ we saw no young gentlemen at 
school.” 

“ Indeed I Your face tells a different story ; but I’ll 
not tease you. This young fellow has suddenly dropped 
down in this part of the country, no one knows ex- 
actly from what quarter. He is here for the purpose 
of purchasing an estate, he says, but, so far as I am in- 
formed, there is not an acre of land for sale anywhere 
around. He lives in the next town, astonishes every 
one there by his elegant dress and manners, and drives 
the host of the Black Bear almost wild with envy because 
he has taken up his abode at the Golden Lion.” 

“ And you are well acquainted with him ?” inquired 
my aunt. 

“ How can I be, my honored friend, when he has been 
here but a few days? He has been to see me, as well as 
everybody else in the neighborhood; although I do not 
see why he is in such a hurry about introducing himself, 
when he is not yet certain whether he will remain. The 


ELEONORE. 


15 


name was rather ai^ainst him. I knew a Kollner in the 
army once, who did not honor it particularly. There 
were stories about him that would make your hair stand 
on end, and he had only the kindness of his colonel to 
thank for being honorably dismissed instead of cashiered. 
Don’t look so anxious, dear madame, we were perfectly 
frank with each other. Baron Kollner is a cousin of this 
ci-devant officer. He begged me, however, to say nothing 
of the relationship for the sake of the family, — which re- 
quest, you see, I have obeyed,” he added, with a loud 
laugh. 

This explosion startled me, and I glanced uneasily at 
my aunt. 

“ Don’t be afraid, Fräulein Lora,” said he, in answer 
to the look ; “ she is used to my voice. When a man 
has talked with the roar of cannon in his ears, he is not 
likely to coo like a dove. But how is this, my friend? — 
you ought not to be sick now, when youth and beauty 
have come to take up their abode with you. I want to 
show off our treasure, and my special errand to-day was 
to know if I might invite the Windhems, and a few others, 
to meet you at my house, and when it should be.” 

I was delighted at this proposition, and my aunt agreed 
to take the matter into consideration, and let him know as 
soon as she was strong enough to accept the invitation. 
Age renews its strength slowly, however, and several 
days elapsed before this was the case. In the mean 
time the sky seemed to be reflecting the dull monotony 
of my existence. It rained uninterruptedly, and even 
the slight diversion afforded by a walk in the garden was 
denied me. 

When at last the clouds rolled away, and the blue sky 
and sunshine again appeared, I ran out into the park, 
although it was late in the afternoon, and the ground 
still very damp. There everything was wonderfully 
beautiful. All nature was celebrating a joyful thanks- 
giving, and involuntarily I stretched out my arms and 
touched the bushes and flowers, as I went along, to steal, 
if possible, some of their gladness. After awhile I turned 
over one of the rustic chairs and sat down. Before me, 
in direct perspective, lay the castle in a dark, leafy set- 


IG 


ELEONORE. 


ting. The dazzling stream of light which the dqxjlining 
sun threw upon its walls flowed on through the grounds, 
gilding the trunks of the old trees, bringing here and 
there a cluster of flowers into clear relief, and, at last, 
spreading itself, like liquid gold, over the turf beyond. 
Suddenly I became aware that I was not the only ad- 
mirer of the scene, and, looking around with a start, I 
perceived, in my immediate vicinity, a young man who 
had evidently been watching me very closely. He was 
of medium height, with dark, curly hair, heavy whiskers 
and moustache, and eyes as black as midnight. His 
features I could not distinctly see in the fading light, but 
there was something quite fascinating in the easy assur- 
ance with which, when finding himself discovered, he 
came forward to apologize for the intrusion. 

“ I am a stranger here,” he remarked, in explanation, 
“and was informed that these grounds were public.” 

I knew in a moment that the speaker was Baron 
Kollner, and, in my confusion, replied that I believed 
they were. 

“ You believe ! Then you are not at home here, Fräu- 
lein ?” he resumed. 

“ I hope to be so soon,” I answered, after a mementos 
pause. 

“ I trust your hopes may be realized,” said he, looking 
intently into my face. “ But neither the place nor society 
appears to me such as a beautiful young lady would choose 
for her debut in the world.” 

This speech convinced me that he knew something of 
my history and circumstances ; but I recollected that a 
conversation with a strange gentleman, in a dusky park, 
was not quite according to the rules of propriety, and, 
with a slight bow, I stepped past him, and walked hur- 
riedly towards the house. The little adventure, if such 
it may be called, excited me considerably, although the 
sweet influences of the evening were entirely dissipated 
by it. 

The bright weather had a favorable effect upon my 
aunt, and the next day was fixed upon for our visit to the 
general’s. Old Martin was struck aghast at the idea of 
harnessing in the afternoon, and it required all Louisa’s 


ELEONORE. 


17 


diplomacy to make him listea to such an absurd idea. 
It was twenty-two years come Michaelmas, he said, 
since he entered the service of Frau von Rutwitz, and 
never before had so monstrous an outrage been inflicted 
upon his domain. His poor Martin and Louisa (as the 
horses were oddly named) would be killed outright, but 
the blame must not be laid upon his shoulders, — he knew 
better than to take them out of the stable at such an hour. 

We found a larger company assembled than we had 
expected, and I could not .remember the names of half 
the people to whom I was introduced. My attention was 
especially drawn to the Fräulein Windhems, since I had 
been informed that they would be my chief rivals. They 
equaled the Graces in number, but were totally unlike in 
appearance. Sophie, the eldest, was a languishing blonde, 
with long eyelashes and very clear blue eyes ; the second, 
Bella, a sparkling brunette ; while the third, although 
possessing fewer pretensions to beauty than either of her 
sisters, had a charm about her face as irresistible as it 
was puzzling to* explain. I could not decide whether its 
expression was that of cheerful good nature or scornful in- 
dependence, so continually did it vibrate between the two. 

I had thought to create an immense sensation among 
these country-people, and my vanity was not a little 
piqued by their indifference. Alma, the youngest of the 
three sisters, was the first to appreciate my position ; and, 
approaching me, she said, with a frank smile, — 

“ Strangers must be stared at and let alone, Fräulein 
Soltendorf: it is the baptism of fire through which every 
candidate for admission into a new circle has to pass. 
But I offer you compensation, — I never mind curious 
glances : so, if it will afford you any interest, I submit 
myself for full inspection.” 

“ I hope you extend that permission to the rest of the 
company,” drawled a young man near us. 

“You must have seen long ago that your glances do 
not trouble me,” she rejoined ; “ if it gives you any 
pleasure, look to your heart’s content.” 

“ One would suppose, Alma, you held an exclusive 
patent for rudeness,” said Sophie, coming to the relief of 
the discomfited fellow. 


2 * 


18 


ELEONORE. 


“ So I do, Sophie, and I insist on the privilege, since 
I do not dispute your claim to beauty and talent ; though 
as to the former, your title, I think, has nearly expired. 
You do not know, perhaps,” she continued to me, “my 
sister is a poet, artist, and musician, besides being en- 
dowed with many other very remarkable gifts, while the 
rest of the family are merely ordinary mortals. My 
brother Felix is devoted to his horses ; I find my satis- 
faction in saying just what I please to every one; and 
Bella, — well, Bella tries to forget her insignificance in 
listening to the flattery of numerous admirers.” 

“You are too silly 1” pouted the pretty Bella, shrug- 
ging her shoulders. 

“ But she is not satisfied with the same tone long,” 
resumed Alma. “Just now Herr von Waldenstein is 
*jeune premier so I advise you, Fräulein Soltendorf, 
not to choose him for a conquest. Oh, I forgot I Herr 
Bertram, please have the kindness to stand between 
Herr von Tauenfeld and myself, — you may prevent a 
tragedy. He is looking at me so savagely that I appre- 
hend something terrible !” 

Herr von Tauenfeld, a gentleman whom I had already 
noticed as being oblivious to everything save Bella’s 
black eyes, certainly did not look very savage, but piti- 
fully embarrassed. The general burst into one of his 
hearty laughs, and the rest of the company, not knowing 
what else to do, joined him. Alma left me ; but when a 
little later we adjourned to the garden, I found her again 
at my side. 

“Don’t let’s go with the crowd,” said she, taking my 
arm. “I am interested in you as afresh subject,— all 
the rest I know like a pair of old gloves. We will make • 
use of the occasion to get acquainted with each other. I ' 
suppose you have come to this out-of-the-way corner of 
the world with great expectations. You think your ad- 
vantages, personal and otherwise, will enable you to 
make a peat figure here ; but you forget you are just out 
of boarding-school, with neither experience nor courage.” j 

“ Courage 1” I exclaimed, surprised at the strange con- j 
nection. 

Yes, you are timid j I saw that at the first glance. 


ELEONORE. 


19 


That will make you more attractive, b.ut less dangerous, 
I suspect.” 

I did not know whether to laugh or be angry at this 
summary disposal of myself, and asked, in a tone of 
some annoyance, “ How can you presume to judge of my 
character in so short a time ?” 

“ Simply because I have eyes and know how to use 
them. You see the people here to-day 1 They are quite 
the Hite of the country; and yet my sisters and myself 
are the most important personages present. Thanks to 
our number, or our charms, we have held, thus far, undis- 
puted sway ; and now, when some one steps upon the 
scene who may possibly rival us, we, of course, study 
her with interest ” 

“And suspicion, too,” I suggested. 

“ Quite right; with suspicion, too. But I waive this in 
your case, and hang out a white flag. You will soon 
discover that your residence here is not particularly 
adapted to social conquest; besides, it weakens your 
strongest point, — I mean your fortune.” 

I looked at her in amazement, trying to read in her 
face the explanation of this singular assertion. She 
laughed half scornfully, and continued, — 

“ I suppose you know that is yours conditionally ; and 
your stepmother 

I laid my hand upon her arm. “ Stop one moment, 
Fräulein Alma! You may express any opinion of me 
you choose, but I will not suffer one disparaging word 
of my mother. I love and honor her, and the preju- 
dice against stepmothers shall not be extended to her 
in my presence.” 

“ Nonsense I Prejudice 1” she replied, shaking off my 
hand. “ That implies shallowness, which I am not yet 
willing to admit as a characteristic of my brain. No, 
Fräulein Lora, your regard for Edith does more credit to 
your heart than your head.” 

“ Whether dictated by one or the other does not sig- 
nify ; she has always shown a mother’s love to me, and I 
am grateful to her for it. As to my property, I believe 
that belonged to my own mother, and I am her only 
child.” 


20 


ELEONORE. 


“ Perhaps they have forgotten to tell you that she left 
your father her heir, and that the estate will reach you 
through his will. Wills change, you know ; and as the 
fair young wife possesses the ear of her husband exclu- 
sively through your banishment, she may use the privi- 
lege to her advantage.” 

“ If my mother did that,” I replied, with considerable 
excitement, “ it shows the boundless confidence she had 
in her husband, and your insinuations are an insult to 
both my parents. I do not know what your intention is 
in making this communication, but I have heard enough, 
and beg you will excuse me from accompanying you 
farther.” 

I started to leave her, but she held me back. 

“ Don’t be a child, Lora,” said she, so earnestly that I 
was constrained to remain. “ You must see I have done 
this for your good. If I had been more diplomatic, I 
should have gone to work differently ; but I always like a 
straight line best. I ought to have been more considerate, 
and I beg your pardon for being so rude. But you must 
not refuse my advice, or assistance if necessary. It is easier 
sometimes for one standing aloof to see through relations 
and circumstances than for the parties involved. Retain 
at all hazards your father’s respect and affection : he has 
a stronger claim — Oh, what a pretty greyhound !” she 
exclaimed, in an altered tone. “Come here" Azor, Mush, 
— what is the little fellow’s name, general ?” 

“ Zephyr, Fräulein Alma,” replied the old gentleman, 
who had come upon us unperceived, and who was evi- 
dently the cause of this abrupt termination to Alma's 
advice. 

I lavished most enthusiastic praises on the dainty 
creature, and was surprised and delighted when his 
owner offered to give him to me. 

“ Well, I must say I” cried Alma, before I could reply, 
— “you march to every new victory on double-quick, 
general. Why did it never occur to you to give me a 
greyhound when you were sighing at my feet ?” 

“Because you had two sisters, Fräulein Alma.” 

“ Sophie and Bella against Zephyr ! Sisterly affection 
forbids me to say in whose favor the balance inclines. I 


ELEONORE. 


21 


made an awkward attempt to gain a third sister this 
afternoon, but the result was a miserable fiasco.’’ 

“ Probably because you tried performing on a tight- 
rope instead of following a level path. If you would 
only learn, Fräulein Alma, that one gets along no faster 
by jerks 1” 

“ Teach me the art of being what I am not and I will. 
My faults and virtues are Siamese twins, and whoever 
cannot take them in the lump must let them go.” 

I had no opportunity of seeing Alma again that even- 
ing, but as we were leaving, she whispered to me that 
I might expect a visit from tier very soon. 


III. 

Although the drive of the day before did my aunt 
good, still, she deemed it politic to give Martin and his 
horses a holiday, and I was left to find recreation and 
amusement in my own way. As I had no desire to 
meet Baron Kollner again, I avoided the park, and, taking 
Zephyr with me for company, started off for a ramble 
through the open fields. The mowers were at work cut- 
ting the grass for the first time, and the whole atmos- 
phere was filled with the odor of the fresh hay. The 
light wind blew soft, cloudy veils before the hot sun, 
and chased them away again across the sky, making 
the sickles flash in the sudden light like scattered light- 
ning, and covering the little brook, which danced and 
sang along the edge of the meadow, with a network of 
silver. The cattle were lazily browsing in the shade, or 
standing up to their knees in water, while the cowherd, 
in sympathetic idleness, lay under a tree listlessly staring 
up into the sky. I turned into the corn-fields, and there, 
too, hovered a spirit of contented joy. The waving of 
the long, slender leaves, the humming of the bees and the 
drone of the beetles, all told the same story, and 1 began 
to feel that even the dullest spot has pleasures if one 


22 


ELEONORE. 


knows where to seek them. “ True elevation of soul 
puts greatness into life and does not seek it there/^ 
says our great poet, and this looking for happiness from 
without, this idle expectation of an unknown something 
which is to come, appeared to me at that moment foolish 
and wicked. 

In returning, I discovered a shady footpath leading 
along the bank of the meadow-stream under the willows, 
and, swinging myself across the water by some alder- 
bushes, I followed this towards home. When but a short 
distance on my way, at a sudden bend of the brook, a 
large black hunting-dog sprang out of the thicket and 
growled a challenge to Zephyr. 

“ Here, Pasha 1 back I” cried a voice behind him, and 
the owner soon came in sight. From his dress, I con- 
cluded that he was one of the farmers in the neighbor- 
hood, or perhaps a steward. He had on a green hunting- 
jacket, somewhat worn, with high jack-boots, to which 
a liberal supply of mother earth adhered, and a broad- 
brimmed hat. 

“ Have no fears, Fräulein. Pasha is good-natured,’’ 
said he, assuringly. 

“ Zephyr is not at all afraid,” I replied, a little proud 
of my dog. 

He regarded me with the same indulgent smile that a 
kind old man might bestow upon a child ; and yet there 
was something in it which rather unsettled my hasty de- 
cision as to his position, and made me look at him more 
closely. His features were large and not at all regular, 
but they bore the impress of a strong soul, and the clear 
eye betokened rather more culture than usually falls to 
the lot of small farmers and stewards. His voice, too, 
was quite in harmony with his face, and he had that air 
of assured composure which always characterizes the 
gentleman. 

“ Pardon me that I did not recognize the hero in your 
Zephyr,” said he ; “ courage is not ordinarily a peculiarity 
of his species.” 

My own remark struck me as somewhat puerile after 
this, and to undo such an impression I bowed haughtily 
and stepped forward. 


ELEONORE. 


23 


“ Permit me to accompany you for a little way, Fräu- 
lein,’’ he continued, quietly following me. “ The bridge 
below is gone, and a lady unaccustomed to the country 
may find some difficulty in crossing.” 

“How do you know that I am?” I asked with sur- 
prise. 

“ Because I have lived here a long time, and am too 
well acquainted with our ladies to be ignorant that I have 
the honor of addressing Fräulein Eleonore Soltendorf. 
But I will not retain my advantage over you. Allow me 
to introduce myself as Hugo Waldenstein.” 

“ You Herr von Waldenstein I” I cried, in a tone of 
disappointment that must have amused him greatly. I 
had fallen from the clouds, and was a little bewildered by 
the passage. This man with the dirty boots and shabby 
jacket the trumpeted lion of the place I M/ companion 
may have guessed my thoughts, for he answered, with a 
hearty laugh, — 

“ I see you took me for a peasant, and my boots cer- 
tainly justify the conclusion ; but I have been inspecting 
some boggy fields, and that accounts for their appear- 
ance.” 

When I saw the narrow plank over which I had to 
pass, I was very grateful for Herr von Waldenstein’s 
assistance. He helped me safely across, listened politely 
to my thanks and apologies, and then, bidding me good- 
morning, returned to the other side. But Zephyr had 
struck up a sudden friendship for Pasha, and would not 
leave him. I coaxed and commanded to no purpose ; 
away he went bounding along with his new-found ac- 
quaintance. Pasha followed his master ; so there was 
nothing to be done but for Waldenstein to come back 
again with both dogs, and then to separate them as w^ 
could. This proved quite impossible, however, and the 
situation became ludicrous in the extreme. 

“ Call your dog away, and I will take Zephyr in my 
arms,” I said at last, desperately. 

“Not at all, Fräulein; he is too heavy. With your 
permission, I will go with you to the park ; it is but a 
little out of my way.” 

I did not know exactly what reply to make. Madame 


24 


ELEONORE. 


St. Aubin had given me no instructions concerning a meet- 
ing with a young man brought about by the intimacy of 
two dogs. Herr von Waldenstein came to my aid again 
with his quiet assurance. “ You may accept my company 
without hesitation, Fräulein Soltendorf. I have the honor 
of knowing your aunt, and can safely say she will have 
no objections.” 

I was too much embarrassed to do more than bow my 
consent, or to say much to him, as we walked along. He 
took it upon himself to entertain me by giving a little 
description of the families whose residences were in 
sight, and especially calling my attention to the condition 
of the peasantry. 

“ You have a good opportunity for gaining some in- 
sight into the habits and lives of these people, Fräulein,” 
said he, in conclusion, and your residence here might 
be profitably employed in this way.” 

“ I am obliged to you for the suggestion, but fear the 
study of peasants would not interest me,” I replied, half 
inclined to feel myself insulted. 

Waldenstein laughed. “You think me pedantic, and 
perhaps with reason. I have played the part of school- 
master so long that I sometimes attempt it at inoppor- 
tune times.” 

“ Who are your pupils ?” I asked. 

“ My servants, and the peasantry of course, although 
the latter are rather refractory ones.” 

“ How came you to take upon yourself so thankless a 
task?” 

“ Thankless I Not at all, only one must seek the thanks 
mainly in the approval of his own conscience. Every 
educated man, in my opinion, is bound to do what he can 
tbwards the elevation of those around him ; he is, in a 
measure, morally responsible for his surroundings. When 
Börne reproaches Schiller and Goethe because so many 
within the shadow of these intellectual giants could not 
read and write, he utters a great truth. Treasures 
of mind and soul are no more given us for our own 
selfish enjoyment than material ones; we are stewards 
of both, and should use them for the good of our fellow- 
men.” 


ELEONORE. 


25 


“ Who care little about sharing the former, however,” 
I suggested. 

“ So much more imperative the duty. This indiffer- 
euce shows how great their poverty is.” 

“You regard life very seriously, Herr von Walden- 
stein, — 1 have never looked on that side.” 

“ It seems to me its cheerful side cannot be truly dis- 
cerned, unless one does see at times the opposite ; but, 
pardon me, Fräulein Soltendorf, I have been talking to 
please myself without consulting the taste of my listener. 
There are the walls of the park, too, — and I shall not have 
time to make amends for my thoughtlessness.” 

“ Less time than you supposed. I have the key to this 
little gate, and must leave you here.” 

“ Then I can only hope for the future,” he replied, ex- 
tending his hand. 

I laid mine in it without hesitation, said “ good-by,” 
and, drawing the unruly Zephyr through the gate, closed 
it behind me. As I walked slowly up the avenue, I could 
not help thinking of the contrast between my ideal Wal- 
denstein and the reality. It is true, the stranger had 
been polite, — but that was all ; and nothing in his manner 
showed that I had made any extraordinary impression 
upon him, as had been the case with Köllner. He treated 
me precisely as he might have done my aunt under 
similar circumstances. 

For several succeeding days time hung very heavily 
upon my hands, and I do not think visitors ever met 
with a warmer welcome than did the Fräulein Windhems 
and their mamma when they at length made their appear- 
ance. Not that I liked them especially,* but because I 
would have welcomed any one, or anything, that prom- 
ised relief to my loneliness. 

“I hoped to see you before this, Lora,” said Alma, 
“but have been prevented in various ways. Yesterday 
we were all ready, when some one came, and I had not 
courage to encounter Bella’s black looks and turn him 
over to Felix.” 

“ Herr von Tauenfeld ?” I asked, laughing. 

“ Tauenfeld ! Oh, no ! ’ He would have trotted along 
by the carriage, and found some (piiet corner here 

3 


B 


26 


ELEONORE. 


to stare at Bella, — you know, he never opens his 
mouth.” 

“Alma, I pray you spare us I” exclaimed Bella. “I 
really hoped we should have a little peace to-day.” 

“ I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear sister. As I 
was saying, we were about to leave yesterday when Herr 
von Waldenstein was announced, and regard for the in- 
terests of the family induced us to remain. But come, 
let’s go to your room or the garden, and give mamma a 
chance to consult Frau von Rutwitz about her latest 
recipes.” 

The two elder sisters preferred my room, and I led the 
way thither. Sophie immediately took possession of the 
“ dream-chamber,” and announced her intention of remain- 
ing there all the afternoon. 

“She is disposed of,” said Alma. “Now, if we could 
only do something with Bella ! Isn’t there a flirtation to 
be scared up anywhere, — some poor candidate or scholar, 
or a young peasant, maybe, whose small wits would be 
entirely put to flight by her beauty ?” 

“ Do not take any notice of Alma’s babbling, Fräulein 
Eleonore,” said the victim of this raillery. “ We are used 
to it at home, and pay no more heed to her than a miller 
does to his mill-wheel, but strangers ” 

“ Take care, Bella, that comparison will destroy Sophie’s 
tranquillity.” 

“You judge others by yourself,” retorted the latter, 
spitefully. 

“Not always, my dear. I never had any miller’s 
songs dedicated to me, and it would be preposterous 
to have my peace of mind disturbed by the allusion.” 
Alma said this with unusual earnestness, and there 
was a look upon her face which I had not seen there 
before. 

“ A young man in the park, as large as life I” she ex- 
claimed, after a few moments, in the old voice. “ We 
can , breathe again ! I should believe in good fairies, or 
something of the sort, were it not that Bella took care 
yesterday to sound abroad our visit.” 

“It is that mysterious Baron Kollner,” said Sophie, 
looking up from her book to catch a glimpse of the indi- 


ELEONORE. 27 

vidual. “ He seems infatuated with the country about 
here.” 

“Well, your wheat is in blossom, Bella,” retorted 
Alma. “ The question is now, whether you will place 
yourself here in the window, or take the offensive and 
go down into the park.” 

This suggestion filled me with the greatest alarm ; but 
John fortunately came, just then, to tell us coffee was 
waiting in my aunt’s room, — and the matter dropped. 
Later, when Frau von Windhem proposed a walk there, 
I felt he must have gone, or, if not, that the presence of 
the old ladies would secure us against an interview with 
him. But I was mistaken. A slight turn in the avenue 
brought us face to face with the handsome intruder. The 
joyous surprise which lighted up his features was, if not 
genuine, most masterly affectation, and he looked every 
inch the cavalier as, with faultless elegance of manner, 
he saluted Sophie Windhem. 

“ What an unexpected pleasure, gracious Fräulein I 
But I fear it is owing to a great mistake on my part. I 
scarcely believe this park is public.” 

“ Certainly not I” answered Alma, dryly. “ It is open 
to the villagers Sunday afternoons, — you can come then 
if you choose.” 

“ I will remember in future, although, of course, the 
charm of the place would be broken by a crowd. May I 
beg the favor of an introduction to your friend?” he 
added, glancing towards me. 

“ Herr von Köllner, Fräulein Soltendorf,” responded 
Alma, quickly, “entered in the social register of the neigh- 
borhood as the ‘mysterious stranger,’ an enthusiastic 
admirer of our country ; devoted to its little rivers, 
swampy meadows, and vine-covered chain of hills, as 
well as to our domestic wines. Is that all ? — it seems to 
me I have forgotten something.” 

“ I am greatly flattered^by your extended description, 
but think there is nothing to add,” he replied, and adroitly 
turned the conversation.” 

Köllner’s conduct was very singular. He entirely 
ignored our former meeting, and yet attempted, by occa- 
sional glances, to establish a secret understanding with 


28 


ELEONORE. 


me. While preserving the limits of respectful, though 
very warm admiration, he at the same time showed a 
cleverness in appearing disinterested which utterly con- 
founded me. By a series of skillful manoeuvres, he suc- 
ceeded, finally, in diverting the attention of the sisters and 
reaching my side. 

“ At last I can implore your forgiveness, Fräulein 
Soltendorf,” he said, softly. “ I could not allude to our 
previous introduction without exposing my offense in 
repeating these visits.” 

“ I wonder you have not considered them in that 
light before,” I replied, without lowering my voice 
at all. 

“I deserve your reproach, and yet how could I help 
coming here when every other means of seeing you is 
denied me ? Are you angry because I could not resist the 
temptation of looking upon your face even at a dis- 
tance ? Is it an unpardonable fault that to-day, when 
I heard of the Windhems’ visit, I came again, hoping 
for a possible opportunity of speaking to you ? Open 
some other way, and I will no longer obtrude my presence 
here; but ” 

“ Do you know what time it is, Lora ?” asked Alma, 
returning to my side. “ It must be late.” 

I started involuntarily. The repressed passion with 
which the man spoke, the tenderness, the eager solicita- 
tion reflected in that beautiful face bent so closely to 
mine, intoxicated me, — I forgot for the moment where I 
was. Instantly, at Alma’s question, his air of quiet 
self-possession returned, and drawing out his watch, he 
rej)lied, cooll}’’, — 

“ Precisely half-past seven. I hope you do not think 
of returning yet?” 

“ Oh, no I I was only wondering what had become of 
mamma and Frau von Rutwitz, who came out with us.” 

A shade of annoyance passed over his features, — he 
suddenly remembered an engagement at this hour, and 
excusing himself, hastily departed. 

“ I frightened him away with the old ladies ,” said 
Alma, drawing me aside. “ Take care, Lora, he’s dan- 
gerous, — a man. like the devil, who will take your whole 


ELEONORE. 


29 


hand if you give him a finger. Where have you seen 
him before 

“ You introduced him to me yourself.” 

“ Nonsense, Lora! you need not tell me that. I saw* 
by the look he gave you, that he was not wandering 
around here for our sakes. So I presented him with 
that long speech, and I think he could have boxed my 
ears for the kindness. He saw very plainly that I had 
the key to the mystery which hangs over him.” - 

“ And what is it?” I asked, opening my eyes. 

“ What a simple little angel you are, Lora ! Never mind 
now, only I tell you again, be cautious. I am going to ask 
your aunt to let us have you for awhile, and then the 
Baron can see you without watching at the windows, — 
Sophie and Bella will, of course, invite him to our house.” 

“ You always speak of your sisters as if they were 
head of the household, — I should think that position be- 
longed to your mother and brother,” said I, glad of a 
pretext for changing the subject. 

“ So one would suppose ; but what ought to be often 
differs from what is. We sisters rule at home, and 
mother supports our throne a willing Caryatid. Felix 
is less given to worshipful admiration, but the poor fel- 
low is too conscious of his social deficiencies to feel him- 
self anything but a cipher. He manages our small estate, 
and his industry and oversight furnish us with a com- 
fortable living ; but be understands that the style of our 
menage is due to his sisters, and respects them accord- 
ingly. I tell you this, Lora, because 1 like you and want 
to wiu your confidence. My eccentricity, as mamma calls 
it, is not eccentric enough to make me speak of our affairs 
thus freely to every one. Don’t waste your smiles on 
this simple-hearted brother of mine, however, for he has 
been in love with a poor girl for years. I think he in- 
dulges a faint hope of seeing his triplet of sisters married 
ere long, and a place made for his betrothed in the family 
circle.” 

“ He will not hope in vain, considering the number of 
, 3^our suitors.” 

“ Pshaw 1 you say that out of mere politeness, and you 
ought to know by this time that such speeches are at 

3 * 


30 


ELEONORE. 


a discount with me. My sisters’ admirers are not all 
matrimonially disposed, and those who are lack the neces- 
sary attractions to insure success, — the world is just so 
•badly managed. As for myself, I am not to be won by 
languishing looks and sweet words, — they bore me to 
death, and the shafts I send in return cause the said 
languishers to get out of the reach of my fire as soon as 
possible.” 

“ What is that about ‘ miller’s songs’ and your sister 
Sophie ?” I asked, a little curiously. 

“ Hush !” she replied, imperatively, — “don’t ask me a 
wmi’d about that story. On one side it is incompre- 
hensible folly; on the other, almost a crime. A young 
man full of promise drawn into a false path by one who, 
for the sake of having songs indited to her beauty and 
seeing herself celebrated in romances, has trifled with 
the happiness of a whole life!” 

She paused, and then added, with a bitter smile, “ If 
I had been you, Lora, so conspicuous a target for ridi- 
cule would not have escaped me, but you are better than 
I. He was the playmate of my childhood, and as near to 
me as the good, honest Felix. Possessing considerable 
ingenuity, a good memory, and lively fancy, he has been 
led to imagine himself a poet; but he lacks genuine crea- 
tive ability, and can only reproduce, in altered forms, what 
others have originated. I saw his danger, and could 
have convinced him of his mistake if Sophie had not 
captured him to carve a sweet morsel for her vanity. 
She encouraged the delusion, and flattered his weak pro- 
ductions, until he cast aside as unworthy of him the life 
towards which duty and the wishes of his parents pointed, 
for the sake of devoting himself to a literary career, — 
and he is as much out of his natural element in it as a 
hen in the water. He has not the heart to leave his old 
father and mother entirely, as he is their only surviving 
child, so he tries to blend the miller and litterateur into 
one, and spoils both in the attempt. But he will have it 
so, and Sophie — heartless fool ! — rejoices in the faithful 
satellite she has gained.” 

“Its revolutions may advance the wishes of Felix,” I 
suggested. 


ELEONORE. 


31 


Alma laughed. “A man does not marry an ideal, a 
fairy, or any such supernatural creature. Perhaps the 
poet might see a mortal in his goddess, if she were to 
descend from her pedestal ; and Sophie may do this after 
a few years when the prospect of converting her blonde 
locks into gold is gone : for the goddess calculates after 
an earthly fashion. Do you know, Lora, I should not 
have taken you so to my heart if I had not lost my 
friend and confidant in this poet.” 

Frau Windhem and my aunt now came in sight, and 
Alma hastened to request that I might be permitted to 
spend a few days with her very soon. My aunt readily 
consented, promising to take me over during the week 
and come for me when my visit was ended. 

“ It is very hard to let you go, Lora, even for a short 
time,” said she, as we stood by the window watching the 
departure of our guests. “ But I wish to help my poor 
child through her dismal year as well as I can. I will 
invite Alma to return with us when you come home, if it 
would be pleasant for you.” 

Her kind thoughtfulness touched me. “ You are a 
dear, precious aunt I” I cried, throwing my arms around 
her neck. “ How much care and trouble I give you I 
Do not suppose I am ungrateful for it all, — I am happier 
here every day, and feel sure I shall be sorry when my 
!; father sends for me.” 

“ Thank you, my child ! The year, after all, may be a 
! blessing to you, — a sort of purific|ttion from false ideas 
and opinions. I think,” she continued, with a smile, 
j “ you would hardly have thought of my comfort when 
you came here, — your whole soul was too full of the 
sacrifice you were making. It is a growth for which 
I thank God, and it gives me very bright hopes for the 
future.” 

I Her words left a deep impression, and I resolved to 
I make myself more worthy such warm affection, and, if 
possible, to scatter a little sunshine around her pathway. 
When I went to my room that evening I felt no inclina- 
tion for sleep, so I extinguished my lamp and sat down 
by the open window. The njoon was flooding the land- 
scape with magic light, silvering the hills and broad, 


32 


ELEONORE. 


open plains, and checkering the sombre park with its 
broken beams. The grand old trees, chary of the secrets 
intrusted to them, stretched out their thickly-dressed 
branches after deeper shadows. The massive trunks 
shone with a ghastly glimmer, and through the leaves 
the light fell softly here and there upon the flowers, 
bowing their heads in the sweet drunkenness of sleep. 
The spell of night held me prisoner, — I had never before 
been so close to its mysteries, and the gentle rustling of 
the leaves sounded in my ear like enticing whispers. Was 
not this a new joy, and one which the dreaded country 
residence had discovered to me ? Involuntarily the past 
arose before me, but against this background its shapes 
were altered. So many things deemed important in my 
estimation shrank into trivialities, while some of the 
trifles became magnified. There was a tottering within, 
an insecure tossing about among truth and falsehood ; 
and I realized, for the first time, that the notions and 
ideas inculcated in education are worthless as guides 
until they have been engrafted on the individual soul, 
fused, as it were, into the likeness of our own char- 
acters. 


. IV. 

The next morning found me in rather low spirits, a 

natural consequence of the previous day’s excitement, 

but my aunt, quick to comprehend and sympathize, had a 
remedy at hand. To-morrow would be Sophie’s birth- 
day, Frau von Windhem had told her confidentially, and • 
this was generally the occasion for an impromptu gather- ' 
ing of young people to offer their congratulations and r 
partake of the good Frau’s bountiful hospitality. The ( 
festival should inaugurate my intended visit, if I chose* ^ 
and I could employ the time until then in making any ij 
preparations necessary. I was soon in serious consulta- If 
tion with Nannie, my pretty little maid, over my ward- S 


ELEONORE. 


33 


robe, making* such selections from it as I judged would 
cause the greatest sensation ; for the Windhem sisters 
dressed handsomely, and I was ambitious, if possible, to 
outvie them. My good resolutions were forgotten, — no, 
not that, — but I was still in the emotional stage of moral 
development, when the tender buds of conscience are open 
to every good impression, but the power of bringing them 
to maturity yet slumbers. 

I did not omit to keep my eye upon the familiar form 
in the park during my packing. This devotion at a 
distance was growing quite delightful to me, and I ex- 
perienced a wicked pleasure in tantalizing my adorer, 
showing myself at the window but once during the 
morning, and then without returning his obsequious 
salutation. 

It was arranged to leave immediately after dinner on 
the appointed day, and I sat in my aunt’s room impa- 
tiently waiting for the time to come, when a carriage 
stopped at the door, and a young lady sprang out. A 
moment after John entered with the message that the 
companion, Fräulein Carola Göttin had arrived. 

“ Who ?” asked my aunt, in amazement, while I arose 
and came eagerly forward. 

“ I do not know exactly, my lady,” replied John. It’s 
a foreign name, — she said Carola Göttin.” 

“ Very well, — take her to one of the guest-chambers, 
and when she is rested, show her here. I wish to give 
myself a little time, Lora, before receiving the young 
lady,” she added, in explanation of this seeming inhos- 
pitality. “ I expected to receive notice beforehand of her 
coming, that my household arrangements might be made 
accordingly. It is great presumption on Edith’s part to 
send her in this way.” 

I should probably have resented this insinuation 
against my mother’s politeness, had not the longed-for 
companion just then been greatly in the way. What 
was to be done with her 't Would my aunt take her with 
us, and would she remain with me, or must the visit be 
given up ? In the midst of these conjectures, the lady 
herself appeared. She had a slender, supple figure, whose 
graceful motions were very pleasing, while her face, al- 

B* 


34 


ELEONORE. 


though pretty rather than beautiful, might have answered 
as aletter of recommendation almost anywhere. Her glossy 
brown hair was drawn back from a low forehead into a 
loose coil at the back of her head ; her eyes, veiled by 
long, heavy eyelashes, had a soft, half-drowsy expression, 
and the thin lips, whose rosy lines extended a little too 
far perhaps, closed over the most delicate, pearl-like teeth 
I ever saw. She opened the door and glided over the 
carpet so noiselessly that my aunt started when she took 
her hand. 

“ I beg your pardon, my lady, for this unceremonious 
arrival,” said she, in a kind of muffled voice. “I should 
have written to you, but the illness of a friend detained 
me for some time; and when I was able to leave, it did 
not seem worth while to wait longer for the sake of 
formalities. I flatter myself my young mistress has been 
rather lonely without me,” she added, with a smile that 
sneered at her words. 

My aunt understood them seriously, however, and 
replied, somewhat hastily, “ I hope, "Fräulein you will 
not misapprehend your relation to Lora. You do not 
come here as an inferior, but as the associate of my niece, 
on the same level with her in all respects.” 

The stranger dropped her eyelids for an instant, and 
the thin lips laid bare the full beauty of her white teetli, 
but she did not speak. 

“ May I trouble you to give me your name again ?” 
continued my aunt. “I think John could not have heard 
it correctly.” 

“ Carola Göttin, madame,” was the reply. 

‘‘ That is not a foreign name,” said I. “ John insisted 
upon it you were a foreigner.” 

“ John prides himself upon great discrimination in 
certain affairs,” laughed my aunt; “but, Carola, I am 
sorry to condemn you to my society alone for a few days. 
I have promised Lora a short visit to a friend, and can- 
not recall the engagement.” 

A weight fell from my heart when I heard this, but 
the effect of the announcement upon Carola was most 
singular. She pressed her lips tightly together, and a 
flash of angry surprise was visible under the long lashes. 


ELEONORE. 


35 


But it vanished in an instant, and the smooth, purring 
voice replied, — , 

“ You must not consider me impertinent, madame, if I 
remonstrate against this arrangement. My orders are 
never to leave Fräulein Lora after ” 

My aunt silenced the speaker by an imperative wave 
of the hand. “You have, doubtless, misinterpreted 
your instructions. So long as Lora is in my house she 
is under my direction, and you can obey me without 
scruple. I assume the entire responsibility to her father.” 

“ I hope you will not regard as presumption, madame, 
what is merely a discharge of duty on my part,” she an- 
swered, in the same inoffensive tones. “It is, of course, 
very painful to me to find myself, at the outset, a super- 
fluity here, and I beg you, if possible, to spare me the 
mortification.” 

I was as much amazed at the audacity of this girl, only 
a few years my senior, in supposing she was to control 
me, as I was at the firmness and dignity manifested by 
my aunt. Then came a presentiment that the society of 
my companion might not be altogether desirable, and that 
instead of playing chaperon to a timid young maiden, I 
might have to struggle for my own rights. 

I did not concern myself about Fräulein Göttin after we 
left the dining-room, but as I stood in the door shortly 
after, waiting with childish impatience for my aunt, I saw 
John bringing down another trunk besides my own, and on 
questioning him, learned, to my astonishment, that it be- 
longed to the “ foreign lady.” Since she could not detain 
me, she had determined to accompany us and force her- 
self upon our friends. There was only one way now to 
get rid of her. I would beg Alma not to invite her to 
remain. We were late in reaching the Windhem man- 
sion, and the rooms were already well filled. Felix per- 
formed the duties of host ; but the part did not suit him, 
and he appeared to the worst advantage in it. 

“What an unlicked cub that fellow isl” whispered 
Carola. “You must have a charming circle here, my 
poor Fräulein, if the rest of the menagerie is like this 
animal.” 

A few months before I might have made the same re- 


3ß 


ELEONORE. 


mark ; but it vexed me now to hear such a criticism, and 
I replied, coolly, “ Felix Windhem is an excellent young 
man, for whom I have the highest respect. It is unjust 
to judge so hastily from mere appearances.’^ 

“ I did not speak of his character, Fräulein Eleonore, — 
very excellent people may have horrible manners and 
present but a poor figure in society. Who is that gentle- 
man?” she asked, pointing to Baron Kollner, who stood 
leaning in a picturesque attitude against the window- 
frame. 

1 gave her his name. She looked at him sharply, and, 
but for her question, I should have said a glance of 
recognition passed between them. 

“ He is like a phoenix in a company of sparrows,” she 
rejoined. “ There must be some great attraction in this 
place or he could not endure to remain.” 

“ How do you know the Baron is not at home ?” I 
asked. 

Carola showed her teeth. “ It requires no prophet for 
that. I saw at once that he belonged to a diiferent sphere.” 

This flattered me, for I knew well enough why he re- 
mained ; still, it was annoying to have her mention him 
so familiarly. 

The facilities for entertaining guests werö remarkable, 
considering the “unpremeditated” character of the gath- 
ering, but the opportune advent of a band of musicians 
in the course of the afternoon, confined the amusement 
principally to dancing. I had both Waldenstein and 
Kollner for partners, but was so absorbed in the novelty 
of a ball that I did not pay much attention to either. 
My distraction disturbed the latter, and after vainly 
attempting to dissipate it, he said, reproachfully, — 

“ Is it hard, Fräulein Eleonore, to show me the favor 
openly which Herr von Waldenstein has gained bv 
stealth?” . 

I looked at him in amazement. 

“Your pure soul, I see, has no suspicion of the means 
taken to attract your attention, but accidents are often 
planned, and along, solitary walk is a good way to secure 
the interest of a young lady.” 

I blushed at this allusion to my encounter with Wald- 


ELEONORE. 


31 


enstein; and then the contrast between the real circum- 
stances of the case and this construction of it, made me 
laugh. Certainly -the old jacket and muddy l30ots were 
as little calculated to take my heart by storm as his 
tiresome discourse concerning peasants. 

“As you know so much, you are probably aware that 
a sudden friendship between our dogs compelled Herr von 
Waldenstein to attend me home,” I replied. 

“ Discretion is the sacred obligation of every gentle- 
man,” was the singular, and, as I thought, somewhat 
irrelevant answer. 

I was greatly at a loss to account for Köllner’s represen- 
tation of this affair. Was Waldenstein responsible for 
it ? I had judged him a person of too much delicacy for 
such trifling. While I was deliberating whether to be 
angry at him or my informant, Alma came and drew me 
away. 

“ How can you stand talking to that silly coxcomb all 
this time ? Don’t you remember my caution ? Half the 
people in the room already consider him your accepted 
suitor, and your new duenna seems quite pleased with 
the intimacy, — she has been having a long confidential 
talk with him herself.” 

“ My new duenna I” I repeated. 

“ If any other name suits you better, I am agreed to 
it, but that is her office. I don’t see where she has fallen 
from so suddenly. My first thought was that the Frau 
stepmother had become anxious about your doings ; but 
then Fräulein Carola is wholly en accord with Baron 
Kellner, and I know of no one else who has been looking 
sweet upon you.” 

“ You are incorrigible, Alma I Even Edith’s care for 
ray happiness you construe into a malicious intent.” 

Do you expect to be made happy by Fräulein Göttin, 
Lora ?” 

“ How can I tell ? I am not acquainted with her yet,” 
I answered, in my former tone of irritation. “You do not 
seem to like her.” 

“ No, I don’t like cats !” 

“ That’s one of your queer ideas, Alma.” 

“ Not at all I Just look at her, — the cat is unmistakable. 
4 


38 


ELEONORE. 


The lithe fissure and gliding movements, those veiled, slug- 
gish eyes, the soft voice and insinuating ways, all remind 
you of one. How carefully she puts out her velvet paws so 
that one may not suspect her of scratching I Even the red 
lips, pretty little pointed teeth, and slender tongue, which 
peeps out occasionally, are just like a cat’s. There she 
sits now purring, with her eyes half closed, and yet I 
venture to say she is watching us, and knows we’re talk- 
ing about her.” 

“ Since she is so disagreeable to you, Alma, I hope 
you will not invite her to remain here with me, as she, 
no doubt, has the intention of doing. Frankly confessed, 
I do not like her, and her presence would be intolerable 
to me.” 

“ My poor Lora I I see you don’t know how to deal 
with cats. Sophie has given the invitation long ago. 
She swung the censer of flattery before my susceptible 
sister until her senses were intoxicated. Bella is caught, 
too. Fräulein Carola has made the astonishing discovery 
that Hugo Waldenstein is desperately in love with her, 
and the poor girl, who had serious doubts of that before, 
is now swimming in a sea of blessedness, with her en- 
lightener fondly clasped to her bosom. She tried me 
with the uncommon-character bait, but I refused it, and 
made an enemy of her in consequence, — but come into 
the garden, the heat of these rooms is terrible. We’ll see 
how long it will be before the cat will steal after us.” 

The sun had gone down, but the rosy-streaked clouds 
of the west still showed where he had sunk to rest, and 
it was light enough to make everything around us visible. 
At a little turn of the path, we came upon Sophie reclining 
gracefully on a rustic-seat, and looking up into the face of 
a young man who stood near her. He had thrown one 
arm over the branch of a tree, and, bending it like an 
arch over the head of his companion, was leaning to- 
wards her, listening with mingled respect and tenderness 
while she spoke. It was so charming a picture that I 
hesitated to spoil it, and, making a sign to Alma, said, 
softly, “ Let’s go back, we shall disturb them.” 

“ A blessed disturbance it would be for one,” she ex- 
claimed, bitterly ; “ and as for the other, she would be 


ELEONORE. 


39 

glad if the whole world were witness of the adoration 
which her beauty receives.” 

I had noticed this gentleman several times during the 
afternoon, but did not remember hearing his name. His 
aspect was more that of a looker-on than a participator 
in the gayeties around him, and his tall, slender form, 
aristocratic features, and dark, dreamy eyes, singled him 
out from the other strangers whom I had met. 

“ What is his name ?” I asked, as much to rouse Alma 
from her dark mood as to gratify my own curiosity. 

She stared at me vacantly, and then, seizing my arm, 
drew me hastily forward. ‘‘Pardon, 0 queen, for the 
intrusion I but our master of ceremonies has been guilty 
of great oversight, forgetting to present. our domestic 
lion to the new lioness, Fräulein Soltendorf. Permit me, 
Lora, to make you acquainted with our demi-god, the 
celebrated poet, Herr Müller-Müller.” 

The young man bowed distantly, while Alma con- 
tinued : 

“You know, Lora, when celebrated artists marry, they 
retain their own name in addition to their husband’s, and 
it is this double cognomen alone sometimes which reveals 
their fame to the ignorant multitude. Herr Müller, of 
course, cannot do this, and will, therefore, have to select 
some distinguishing title to raise him above the common 
herd of Müllers. Since, however, he is by birth a miller, 
and is named Müller, the natural compound will be 
Müller-Müller.” 

Notwithstanding this explanation, the situation was by 
no means clear to me. This elegant gentleman could not 
really be a miller, and I looked into his face for a solu- 
tion of the enigma; but he said nothing. 

“ You must not be hurt by Alma’s nonsense,” inter- 
posed Sophie, laying her hand upon his arm; “she is 
never wholly accountable!” 

“ Hurt by my nonsense, when I explicitly stated that 
his poetical fame made this designation necessary 1 Think 
how original it sounds, and how eager every one will be 
for the acquaintance of this Herr Müller-Müller!” 

“ Fräulein Soltendorf has not seemed particularly so,’ 
said the young man at last. “ I was honored by an in- 


40 


ELEONORE. 


troduction to her some time ago ; but a repetition of the 
ceremony furnished too good an opportunity for you to 
lash me with your scorn.” 

Heaven has appointed me, Willibald,' to harass your 
life by pin-thrusts. But I must rob you of the sweet 
assurance that your person and name made an inefiface-^ 
able impression upon my friend. The latter had quite] 
escaped her memory, but I flatter myself she will not 
forget it now.” | 

“ Your ridicule of my name, Fräulein Alma, is scarcely , 
worthy so clever a lady. It is cheap wit, and by no 
means original. Besides, is it generous to make sport of ^ 
an inherited misfortune ?” 

“ Only the most presumptuous arrogance can call it 
such,” she returned. “You ought rather to thank God' 
for a name honored by your excellent parents, and in , 
which you inherit a property almost affluence. By 
this silly pride you give full liberty to every jester to 
laugh at you, and not until you become the true 
Müller-Müller that your father is will their arrows fall 
harmless.” 

Alma’s voice had lost its tone of derision, and her dark-! 
brown eyes glistened with moisture. On Herr Müller’s 
countenance, too, rested an expression of deep thoughtful-: 
ness, and an increasing interest in the speaker which evi-^ 
dently troubled Sophie. 

“ When the fool turns preacher,” she yawned, “ ennui 
is born of the metamorphosis, — suppose we return to the 
house.” 

“ A timely suggestion,” responded Alma, with return-; 
ing cheerfulness. “Well, there won’t be occasion muchj 
longer for dispute on the subject of names. When that 
terrible giant, ‘the Spirit of the Age,’ has reduced all' 
mankind to the procrustean bed of equality, one will be as 
good as another. I will show you to-morrow, Lora, a 
Frau Müller who will make you honor the one in ques- 
tion, however. The possession of such a mother is Herr 
Willibald’s greatest recommendation.” 

“ My mother will undoubtedly be pleased to see you,” , 
replied the latter, a little stiffly. I 

“ When is the visit to take place ? — can I make one of i 


ELEONORE. 


41 


the party V' asked Carola, whose approach none of us 
had observed. 

He bowed assent, while Alma added, sarcastically, “ Oh, 
of course, we counted Lora’s duenna in !” 

Carola dropped her eyelids, demurely disclaimed the 
title, and then devoted herself to Sophie for the rest of 
the way. 

When the company had dispersed I contrived a way to 
tell Alma of my walk through the meadow, and ask her 
whether she supposed Kollner’s version of it proceeded 
from Waldenstein. 

“ That question would never be put by one who knew 
Hugo,” she replied. “ He is as little capable of such a 
thing as Miiller would be of shortening a bushel of corn 
for his customers.” 

“ You are too bad, Alma ! I was in earnest.” 

“And so am I. You will hear the mill to-morrow for 
yourself.” 

“ But that high-bred, cultivated man cannot possi- 
bly—” 

“ The contrast between the mill and its owner is his 
curse,” said she, impatiently, — “ but good-night I I am 
terribly tired. Don’t be troubled about Waldenstein: 
tell him what you please, — he’s as. true as gold 1” 

On retiring to my room that night, I found the door 
leading into the next apartment open, and Carola there 
waiting for me. She came forward with assurance, as if 
confident of a welcome, and began talking of the people 
we had met. None of the gentlemen except Köllner 
seemed to have found any favor in her eyes, and him she 
exalted so highly that be shrank into nothingness in my 
esteem. Waldenstein, on the other hand, was pro- 
nounced a coarse, ugly boor. It has been remarked that 
young girls generally see through their neighbor’s eyes, 
and that praise judiciously bestowed, will create an affec- 
tion with the most indifferent of them ; but more potent 
than this is undeserved censure, which always places the 
excellencies of the accused in the strongest light. Cer- 
tainly the above-named individual had never seemed so 
attractive to me as now, when Carola was measuring him 
by her false standards. I had scarcely thought him fine- 


42 


ELEONORE. 


looking, but against her ridicule his strong, well-devel- 
oped form and noble countenance appeared most striking, 
and I wondered greatly at my previous insensibility. His 
manner was full of dignity and repose, and a quiet, 
thoughtful earnestness pervaded all his actions. The 
world would never take him by surprise: he was too 
steady and self-contained, too sure of his own opinions, 
to be shaken by opposition, and too generous to provoke 
attack. In spite of the first unfavorable impression, I 
could not help respecting the man, and this interview 
with Carola put me in a fair way to regard him still 
more highly. As to that lady herself, my aversion was 
considerably increased by her gratuitous description ; but 
1 showed little of it, and did not take the trouble to con- 
tradict her words. When she left me I closed and bolted 
the door, being quite courageous enough for this silent 
intimation of my wishes. 


Y. 

The great event of the next day was our visit to Frau 
M filler. As we approached the place, I looked for the 
mill, which I had imagined romantically situated on a 
quiet stream in some little nook of the valley ; but no such 
object came in sight, and I finally asked Alma where it 
was. 

“ Don’t you hear the clapper ?” she replied, laughing, 
— “ all those buildings which you take for barns are 
mills. This is a large mill property, and the owner has 
added to it until many a nobleman may envy him his 
acres and their income.” 

“ But I do not see any water I” I continued. 

“ But you do'see that tall chimney, don’t you ? Mas- 
ter Steam drives wheels better than water. Ah, Bella ! 
there stand three cabriolets in the yard: you are insured 
a pleasant time at all events.” 

Frau Mfiller was in truth a charming old lady, and 
her sweet face, beautiful in spite of age, and framed in 


ELEONORE. 


43 


silver curls, together with her simple, but scrupulously 
neat attire, attracted me at once. 

“I knew your mother well, Fräulein Eleonore,’^ said 
she, greeting me affectionately. “ She and my eldest 
daughter were of the same age, and warm friends. Death 
called them both away early, and,” she added, with a 
sigh, “ it has robbed me of all the rest but my youngest 
son.” 

“ Whom you mention with a sigh, dear mamma,” 
said Alma, gayly, although her own eyes were full of 
tears. 

“Hush, Sauce-box !” cried Frau Miiller, changing her 
tone ; “ remember, you are not first to-day, — I intend to 
devote myself to our new guest. I have a bone to pick 
with you, ladies !” she continued, gently passing her soft, 
white hand over Alma’s hair. “ It is solemnly announced 
that Fräulein Eleonore, being extremely desirous of making 
my acquaintance, will visit me this afternoon. I accord- 
ingly arrange my coffee-table for ladies with cakes and 
flowers, and am very proud of my simple preparations, 
when one cabriolet after another rolls up, and three gen- 
tlemen make their appearance. Our dear friend and 
neighbor, Hugo Waldenstein, has not been in the house 
before for months, neither has Tauenfeld, and the third I 
have never had the pleasure of meeting; but they all 
come to-day, by a most singular accident, to pay their 
respects to Mamma Miiller. So you see, I am in sad em- 
barrassment over my entertainment, and shall depend 
upon your smiles to cover all deficiencies.” 

Notwithstanding the anxiety of their hostess, the gentle- 
men did good justice to the simple refreshments, and every 
one seemed infected with her cheerfulness, except the son. 
He was evidently concerned about the impression which 
his parents and the house were making upon the party, 
especially Baron Kollner and Carola, — why, I was at a 
loss to understand, for no person could fail to be charmed 
with these two old people and their surroundings. It is 
true, the rooms were by no means elegant : the walls were 
darkened with age, the floor was of simple deal, and the 
carpets, where there were any, had certainly never seen 
Smyrna j but everything had a genuine homelike appear- 


44 


ELEONORE. 


ance, an air of comfort and genial hospitality, which no 
upholster’s skill could furnish. 

“ What do you say to Mamma Müller asked Alma, 
who sat near me, — “ isn’t she splendid ? and doesn’t she 
scatter happiness around her ? Do you blame me, that I 
am indignant at Willibald for despising this simplicity? 
He’s annoyed now because the silver cofifee-urn is locked 
up in the closet, and because the .pretty Stina is waiting 
on us in place of a pompous lackey. Just imagine one 
of those dressed-up puppets behind that dear old lady’s 
chair I — you might as well wish for a crown of brilliants 
on the head of the Sistiue Madonna.” 

Frau Müller seemed in fact the life and soul of the com- 
pany, and her sympathy with her young friends was as 
perfect as if she had been twenty instead of threescore. 

“ I have detained my guests too long, I fear,” said she, 
rising from tlie table; “ but I am so happy when I have 
young people around me, that I forget I am no longer 
young myself. I will retire now, and leave Willibald to 
entertain you.” 

“ May I ask who is the original of that ?” inquired Köll- 
ner, as she was leaving the room,* pointing to a large oil- 
painting, in a handsome gilt frame. “ I believe I know 
the lady.” 

Hardly,” replied Frau Müller. “ This has been painted 
over thirty years. It is a portrait of the Countess Sen- 
dau, who married a Marquis Pallenzo in Florence. I was 
her governess for several years.” 

“ Florence ! — that is it, — I have seen her there ; but she 
was the Countess Rospetti.” 

“ That is the daughter, — a lovely creature, according to 
the mother’s description. You have been in Florence re- 
cently then, I presume, Herr von Kollner ?— Laura has 
been married but two years.” 

“ I was there last winter,” replied Kollner, with some 
constraint. 

“Last winter!” I exclaimed, eagerly ; “then you must 
have seen my parents, and yet you have never told me 
of it.” 

“ I was there but a few weeks, and during my stay de- 
voted myself closely to art, mingling not at all in society,” 


ELEONORE. 


45 


he replied. “ Had I had the honor of Herr von Soltendorf s 
acquaintance, I should doubtless have mentioned it.” 

“But the Countess Rospetti?” interrupted Alma. 

“ I only saw in — in the theatre ; my attention was at- 
tracted to her by the magnificent bouquets which she 
threw.” 

“ To whom ?” asked this persistent catechiser. 

“ To the artists, one. would naturally suppose,” he an- 
swered, with a disagreeable laugh. Carola changed the 
subject just here, and left me wondering what there could 
be about a few weeks’ residence in Florence to make an 
allusion to the fact so embarrassing. 

In the course of the afternoon Alma requested young 
Miiller to show us his rooms, which were in a side wing 
of the house, and he very reluctantly consented. Here 
we were in another world. Tasteful elegance was every- 
where displayed, and all those many superfluities so pleas- 
antly missed in the other apartments, seemed here quite 
in place. The rich golden-veined tapestry was almost 
entirely concealed by pictures and ornaments. Statues, 

, busts, costly vases, and beautiful carvings stood on marble 
socles ; the etageres were filled with rare old porcelain 
and other curiosities, and elegant albums of various de- 
[ scriptions were lying on the polished table. The whole 
was exceedingly beautiful, but too effeminate for a man, 
— it would have been a more suitable setting for a wo- 
man’s fair face and figure. Our host may have felt this, 
! for he did not allow us to linger here, but, drawing back 
• the folding-doors, ushered us into his library. This was 
. furnished more plainly. The walls were lined with book- 
I shelves, books were lying open upon the table, and loose 
t sheets of paper lay scattered upon the open writing-desk. 

“This is the poet’s Holy of Holies, Lora,” said Alma. 
) “ On these shelves you will find busts of all the world’s 
r great poets from Homer to the present time, and it is ex- 
l cessive modesty alone that restrains the occupant from 
^ adding his own. Into this atmosphere Willibald the 
j miller never enters, although it is the mill, and not poetry, 
that has furnished it.” 

< “ Do you want to quarrel with me again, Alma ?” asked 

: Herr Müller, more at ease upon his own premises. 


46 


ELEONORE. 


“Quarrel! certainly not. I only borrowed Fama’s 
trombone to announce your glory, since this feminine 
apartment of itself sounds no trumpet blasts in that di- 
rection. Do you see those expensively-bound volumes, 
Lora ? They contain the immortal master-pieces of litera- 
ture. With affecting confidence in the public, the author 
of each opens with a long preface, although he might 
accuse himself in it of the murder of his father and not 
suffer the least in universal esteem. But there are pro- 
logues on the stage, why not in books? — besides, it is 
unworthy a great mind to have regard for the taste of 
that hydra-headed monster, the public.” 

“You have uttered a truth in your sarcasm,” replied 
Willibald. “ This taste of the public is a difficult thing to 
determine, and by no means easy to gratify.” 

“ That depends upon the method of approach. The 
monster is pugilistic, enjoys a fight, whether it be in the 
political, social, or literary arena. You must come with 
a war-whoop, not an olive-branch, if you wish to be re- 
spected by him. Sound the challenge, but do not make 
the attack ; submit to the blows, but never resist them ; 
and before you know it the previous lords of the field 
will have disappeared, and you will be bell-wether of the 
whole herd. Make the most of the position, however, 
and let every one swear by you as unreservedly as he 
chooses, for it will only be yours until another appears 
with similar credentials.” 

“ But you surely would not advise poets to make such 
a debut ?” said Miiller. 

“ It is the same with all, poets, essayists, novelists, — 
no matter what they are, — it is aggression, not reflec- 
tion, — sensation, not thought : they must have a demon 
for a familiar. Alas for the poet who comes before the 
public bearing no other testimonials than the expression 
of his own tranquil mind and heart, free from exagger- 
ated sentiment, and untouched by this fiery glow of pas- 
sion, to whom our earthly vale of tears appears a tolerabl}^ 
agreeable place of residence, who regards the many im- 
perfections of the world as a natural result of an imperfect 
human nature, and does not tear his flesh beating against 
the inevitable pricks I If he insists upon being heard. 


ELEONORE, 


4t 


every wild animal in the whole band of self-ordained 
critics will assail him, and tear him limb from limb. If 
he has a modest voice and waits to be judged by merit, 
they will shroud him compassionately in neglect and 
silence, and dig him an inglorious grave. 

“ Do you intend to depict my fate in this picture 
said the young man, bitterly. 

Alma looked at him earnestly for a moment, then 
turned suddenly to leave the ijoom. “ Come, Lora,” said 
she, “ let the dead rest, — it is beyond our power to call 
him back to life.” 

Ilerr von Köllner’s attentions to me that day were 
more marked than ever ; he scarcely left my side, and his 
admiration was expressed by most unmistakable signs. 
This must have provoked Frau Miiller’s parting words : 

“ I cannot look upon you as a stranger, my dear,” said 
she, “and I therefore take it upon me to caution you 
about your intercourse with that man. I never saw him 
before, and never heard anything against him, but there 
is something wrong. Wait until you know of his ante- 
cedents before yielding to the fascinations of his handsome 
face, — my instincts seldom deceive me in such matters.” 

This advice troubled me, and, if I had possessed full 
confidence in him, it would have made me a little dis- 
trustful. As it was, 1 resolved to exercise the greatest 
caution. 

The next morning brought the same trio of gentlemen 
to pay their respects to us, together with General Werd- 
ing. The latter was in a rather disturbed state of mind, 
and kept looking at me with a most comical expression 
of mingled fear and amusement. As soon as he could 
get me into a quiet corner, he said, in one of his tremen- 
dous whispers, “I have been guilty of a stupid trick, 
Fräulein Lora, and should have confessed before this but 
I was called away. Baron Kollner, — aha I if you change 
color at the name merely, what have I to expect? — but 
you mui^t hear me. I insist upon it.” 

“ There is nothing to hinder you, general : I am all 
attention, — only do not speak so loud ; every one will hear 
you,” said I. 

“My voice shall be like the breath of spring, dear 


48 


ELEONORE. 


Fräuleio. Well, then, the day after your walk withT 
Waldenstein I accidentally overtook Kollner in the vil- 1 
läge, and we went on some distance in company. I amused _ 
myself by evading his attempts to turn the conversation ^ 
upon you, and drove him almost frantic by my contrari- 
ness. I have no particular liking for the fellow, and 
merely to tease him, at last remarked that I should be 
glad if the singular whim of your parents in thus exiling 
their daughter might be thß means of making a match 
between Waldenstein and yourself, as I considered him a 
jewel among men.” 

“ But, General Werding, how could you ” 

“ Just wait, Fräulein Lora,” interrupted the old gentle-"® 
man, with an air of the deepest contrition, — wait till you® 
hear it all before you scold me. Kollner gave me such® 
a look out of his black eyes, that I should have dwindled® 
to an ash-heap if will and deed were the same thing, and ^ 
then suggested, with a contemptuous curl of the lip, that | 
Herr von Waldenstein’s remarkable qualities were doubt- 
less better known to his friends than to strangers ; and 
that, as you had never seen him, my project was rather 
hopeless. There’s no use trying to hide my folly, Fräu- 
lein, — the devil got the better of me, and so I told him 
that you had not only seen each other, but were mutually 
pleased. He tried to look me through again, and then 
jerked out an indistinct question as to how it came about. 
They took a long walk through the fields, I answered 
(like an old fool) ; and he is always welcome at the castle, 
and will have a fine chance to improve his acquaintance. 
You should have seen the man ! — his face turned pale, or 
better, olive-color, and he bit his lips till the blood came. 

He left me shortly after at the telegraph-office, and I began 
to think what an ass I had made of myself, meddling with 
affairs which did not concern me; still, regrets could not 
mend the matter, and I was going the next day to im- 
plore your forgiveness, when a letter summoned me to 
my ward. The experience proved good luck for him, 
poor fellow 1 He was in an ugly scrape, and wanted me 
to help him out, which I should have done ratlier severely 
but for the remembrance of my own blunder.” 

This explanation, so far from making me angry, was 


ELEONORE. 


49 


a great relief, and I assured the general of my hearty for- 
giveness. When I told the story to Alma, however, she 
looked thoughtful. “ So Kollner left at the telegraph- 
office, did he said she. “ I wonder what help he ol*- 
tained there ; perhaps, after all, Carola’s sudden arrival 
was connected with him.” 

ß ‘‘ Nonsense, Alma I give me some rational advic«. 
What shall I do 

“I gave you that long ago, and have nothing new to 
add,” was her short reply. 

In view of all that had occurred, I treated my adorer 
with the utmost indifference, ignoring entirely his re- 
peated efforts to establish an understanding between 
us, and reducing my share of our conversation to mono- 
syllables. But the afternoon did not pass very pleas- 
antly with me, while upon Kollner’s brow the clouds 
gathered darker and heavier, and he seemed constantly 
in search of some object upon which to vent his ill 
humor. It might have been imagination only, but I 
fancied this disturbed spirit was felt by all the party. 
Certainly, the avidity with which they received Felix 
Windhem’s invitation to look at his horses would indi- 
cate as much. These were the only expensive indul- 
gence of the poor fellow, and he was fond of displaying 
his stables to any one good-natured enough to take an 
interest in them. A well-trained carriage-dog acted as 
equerry, and, at a sign from his master, walked the 
beautiful creatures around to show their good points. 

“You have educated that dog splendidly, Windhem,” 
said Baron Kollner, as the noble fellow proudly led his 
charge back to the stables. “ Let me have him ; you can 
name your own price.” 

“ Sell you Boxer I” was the reply. “ I would as soon 
think of selling one of my limbs.” 

“ Pugh ! a dog is easily replaced. You should con- 
sider the proposal.” 

“I could not let him go on any terms,” answered 
Felix, almost angrily ; and, calling the dog to him, he 
began patting his broad head affectionately. “You are 
my master of horse. Boxer, my agent; the stall could 
not exist without you.” 
c 


5 


50 


ELEONORE. 


I 

“ He is a sort of Jew in the trade, I suppose,” saidg 
Köllner, sneeringly: “computes per cent., and recoin-^ 
mends useless animals as great prizes.” 3 

“That is for you to find out,” rejoined Felix. “He* 
only appears at my sales; and you see a horse never/i 
sho\vs to better advantage than when under Boxer’s 
direction. He could throw dust in the eyes of a con- 
noisseur.” 

“ It would be a hard matter for him to do that with — 
me,” muttered the Baron, with a self-satisfied smilel^ 
“ But come, we have not seen Schönröschen,” he added. |jJ| 

“ What do you know of Schönröschen ?” asked Wind^ 
hem, opening his eyes. |B 

“ Oh, it is no secret that you have had your eye on^ 
her for a long time, and that you expect she will gain 
her price at the next races.” ^ 

“You must have learned all this by witchcraft,” re-^ 
turned Felix. “ I am not decided myself about the} 
races and have half promised to let theni alone for the-^ 
future.” 

“ We all understand what such promises are worth,” 
said Köllner. “They are good till the races begin. Ah, 
here comes the queen. Well, she does honor to her 
name. A magnificent animal, but wicked ; she shows 
the whites of her eyes. You must be careful.” 

“I believe you,” answered Felix. “I am a tolerably 
good rider, but I have never been able to mount her 
without a saddle.” 

“Is that so? What will you wager that I can’t make 
the proud beauty carry me up yonder steep footpath as 
she is ?” 

“ I will lay no wager, Köllner, for your neck would be 
the penalty,” replied Felix. 

“If I choose to risk it, whose concern is it? How 
high will you go, gentlemen ?” 

But no one responded. The gentlemen seemed un- 
willing to bear the responsibility of an accident, and the 
ladies used their utmost endeavors to dissuade him from 
the attempt. Carola’s concern was most marked, and 
she begged me to use my influence to prevent such folly. 

“ Since the gentlemen will not risk their money, I will 


ELEONORE. 


51 


at least prove myself no empty boaster,” continued the 
Baron ; and stepping up to the horse, he seized the bridle, 
and swung himself on her back so suddenly that the 
spectators, as well as Schönröschen herself, were utterly 
confounded. She soon comprehended the situation, and, 
with a couple of leaps forward, began plunging and rear- 
ing so violently that it seemed impossible for the rider 
to keep his seat. Had he been fastened to her back with 
iron bolts, however, it could not have been maintained 
more securely. 

“ Bravo, my beauty 1” he cried, as she rested a moment ; 
“ you understand bursting saddle-girths. But spare your- 
self the trouble this time for A whip!” he called, 

hastily, as she raised herself again on her hind legs. No 
sooner was it in his hand than it whizzed through the air 
and came down upon the poor creature’s back, making 
every muscle quiver with pain. She shuddered, for an in- 
stant, then tossed back her head with a snort of defiance, 
and rushed through the open gate. We had scarcely time 
to recover from our amazement and feel some anxiety for 
Kollner’s safety, when he drew up before us again with 
the horse perfectly subdued and the ascent accomplished. 
Poor Schönröschen’s panting sides were bathed with 
sweat, and her nostrils trembled from excitement. 

“ You see what good friends we are 1” said the Baron, 
stroking her mane; “she is somewhat willful, like all 
beauties, but 1 have a streak of that myself, and she thought 
it wise to yield. There is a little of the devil in her yet, 
Windhem, and you must look out that you don’t get a 
taste of it;” and, throwing the bridle to the hostler, he 
sprang to the ground. 

This exhibition of manly strength and courage drew 
forth my liveliest admiration ; but there was a certain 
fierceness mingled with it which frightened me, and I trem- 
bled at the thought of being in the power of such a man. 
The general, who had formerly been in the cavalry ser- 
vice, regarded the exploit with the greatest interest. 

“ You deserve a laurel-crown, Herr von Kollner,” said 
he, enthusiastically. “J have rarely seen such riding. 
Waldenstein is right, — the feat is worthy a ring-master.” 

“ Who gave Herr von Waldenstein permission to say 


52 


ELEONORE. 


anything about it ?” said Köllner, his face growing black 
with anger. 

The old gentleman looked dumfounded. “You mis- 
understand me, Baron Köllner, — the remark was intended 
to convey the highest praise.’’ 

“ Allow me to have my own opinion ofthat, Herr Gen- 
eral. Herr von Waldenstein will not hesitate to avow the 
insult, I presume, if he meant it as such.” 

“ I repeat the words of the general,” said Waldenstein, 
coming forward and speaking with a composure that pre- 
sented an agreeable contrast to his opponent’s agitation. 
“ It is a misunderstanding : I intended in the remark to 
express my great admiration for your skillful riding, — you 
actually bewildered me by the performance.” 

“ I am delighted that it affected you so,” replied Köll- 
ner, sarcastically. “ May I ask of you, henceforth, open 
applause instead of covert insult?” 

An uncomfortable pause ensued, and all eyes were fixed 
upon Waldenstein. His face turned slightly pale, but he 
spoke calmly; “I see the misunderstanding is on my side. 
The offense is not in the words, but the individual who 
uttered them. However, this is neither time nor place 
to discuss the matter, — you must feel that.” 

But Köllner did not feel it, and began to mutter some 
angry reply, when the general stepped between them. 
“ Enough !” said he, imperatively. “ My gray hairs give 
me the right to remind you of the respect due to our host 
and the ladies. Shall we return to the house?” he added, 
offering his arm to Sophie, while the rest of the gentlemen 
prepared to follow his example. 

Hugo Waldenstein glanced at me, as if to discover the 
impression made by this altercation ; and I, full of indig- 
nation against Köllner at the ungenerous part he had 
acted, answered the look in a way that brought him at once 
to my side. The Baron’s eyes flashed hatred after us, 
and it occurred to me in a moment that I had done a most 
unwise thing. Nor did the expression of surprise which 
crossed the general’s features as I entered, tend to lessen 
my fears. I was dissatisfied with myself and everybody 
else, and, as soon as I could without observation, drew 
Alma into the garden for a free breath. 


ELEONORE. 


53 


“ Tell me, Lora, what does all this mean ?” said she, 
when we had gone a few steps. “ I cannot make the 
story rhyme.” 

“ Tell me, Alma, what it means,” I answered, with a 
faint smile. “ I am quite as much in the dark.” 

‘‘ Well, I must say, Lora! And yet you took Walden- 
stein’s arm without an invitation, when you ought to 
have known that a blow from your hand could not have 
olfended Kollner more deeply.” 

^ “ I never thought of Kollner, except that his conduct 
displeased me.” 

“Very well,” she replied ; “you must take the conse- 
quences of your want of reflection.” 

“ The consequences, Alma 1 What do you mean ?” 

“Is it possible you are such a simpleton as not to 
see that Kollner began this quarrel on your account? 
But I think he might have chosen for it some pretense 
less absurd. It would be about as rational to challenge 
Waldenstein for calling' him an excellent young man; 
which title, by the way, doesn’t suit him as well as that 
of ‘ ring-rider.’ ” 

“ Where are you wandering, Alma ? I beg you ” 

“ I am not wandering at all. The good general laid 
the foundation for this in his indiscreet communication ; 
you have helped it along, and the cream of the whole will 
be a duel. That scandal will gladden your affectionate 
mamma’s heart, and ” 

“ Alma !” 

“ Please don’t interrupt me. I am too much in earnest 
to heed your sentimental reproaches. If Hugo only has 
the first shot he will disable his adversary without killing 
him ; but I know nothing about their crazy duel-laws, — 
and the end is certain if Kollner fires first.” 

“ Do you think he will kill him?” I asked, pale with 
horror. 

“ I certainly believe it, my dear Lora.” And then, see- 
ing my terrified look, she added, “ Let’s be hopeful, how- 
ever ; the general may find some way to accommodate the 
difficulty, — there’s always a bright side.” 

“I do not see one here,” I replied, with a sigh. 

5 * 


54 


ELEONORE. 


‘‘ But I do,” laughed Alma; “you have crossed the 
Bubicon in your sleep, and given to Waldenstein ’s suit 
the most brilliant encouragement.” 

“You know as well as I that Waldenstein thinks of no 
such thing,” I answered, vexed at the suggestion. 

“ Get angry, if you like, Lora ; that is better than being 
frightened. Isn’t there room for suspicion that his at- 
tentions to you would be more particular if the heiress 
did not scare him away ; and that you, not Bella, are the 
magnet which drew him here to-day, and yesterday, to 
the mill ? What a chameleon you are, my dear !” she 
cried, laughing, — “ first pale as marble and then scarlet ; 
but I’ll not give your blushes the lie, for in spite of sisterly 
prejudice, I have seen his eyes follow you when he was 
apparently wholly absorbed in Bella’s chatter.” 

Alma’s kind purpose to divert my thoughts from their 
painful channel was too evident to give her words much 
weight with me, or draw forth a contradiction. We had 
found a seat hidden among the shrubbery, and weary 
and exhausted with the day’s excitement, I leaned my 
head on her shoulder and begged her to let me rest. For 
a long time we sat in silence, listening to the whispers 
of the wind and the evening song of the balm-cricket, and 
the sweet peace of nature was beginning to settle upon 
niy heart, when two forms arose from the shadows, and 
we heard the general’s voice, saying, — 

“You will never persuade me nor anybody else that 
you felt yourself affronted by that comment. On the 
contrary, it was so paltry a thing out of which to make 
a quarrel, that one might suppose you had perverted its 
meaning intentionally.” 

Although I strained my ears to the utmost, I could not 
hear the reply ; but the general’s next words came very 
distinctly: 

“ I believe you know exactly what suspicion might 
attach to it, Herr von Kollner. As for your first ques- 
tion, let me remind you that I am almost seventy years 
old, beyond the age when such solicitation is necessary. 
If so long a past has not established my character among 
my fellow-men, if my honor requires vindication by pistol- 
shots, then it’s hardly worth the powder. An old man 


ELEONORE. 


65 


cannot fight with dignity, any more than an old lady can 
dance.” 

Again Ko’llner’s answer was lost ; but the general soon 
continued : “ You evade the subject. In your case there 
is no excuse, and since I have indirectly a share in the 
blame, I shall seek by every possible means to hinder 
this.” 

“ And how will you accomplish the miracle ?” was 
Kollner’s now audible reply. 

“ I will tell you, Herr von Kollner. If you persist in 
your mad purpose, and do not, after cool deliberation, de- 
cide to beg Waldeustein’s pardon, clearly you are not the 
man we took you for, but a bully, who sets at defiance 
all respect. and politeness. Try it, if you wish to see 
yourself turned away from the doors you have entered 
an honored guest I Thank ‘ Heaven, I have sufficient 
influence to close them all against you; and I give 
you my word for it, you shall not set foot across the 
threshold of one of my acquaintances if you go on with 
this.” 

Alma gave my arm a squeeze to signify her approval, 
and I waited with beating heart for the next words. 

“ I am glad, Herr General,” said he, after a short 
silence, and in a voice which he vainly strove to render 
steady, — “ I am glad you reminded me of your seventy 
years, otherwise I might be tempted to call you to ac- 
count too.” 

“ These words can and shall not harm you,” rejoined 
the old man, with more coolness than I ventured to hope 
for. My age gives me the right to warn a young man 
of his folly, and show him the consequences of it as well. 
If my manner of doing this has been too violent, you 
must excuse it on the ground of temperament.” 

“ You know how to disarm an opponent, I see, my dear 
general,” said Kollner, in a conciliatory manner. And the 
rest of the speech was finished out of our hearing. 

There, thank God ! that storm is over,” whispered 
Alma. “ Kollner didn’t like the prospect of the closed 
doors, and all at once became reasonable. We will go 
in now, Lora, lest some one else come, — perchance Ca- 
rola and Bella may stray here to open their hearts to each 


66 


ELEONORE. 


other in the moonlight. Do you know the idea has 
struck me that Carola is interested in Kölln er 

“ Indeed,” said I, “that same thought occi^rred to me 
this morning, and I think there is good proof of it.” 

The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly. Be- 
fore the party separated I saw Kollner and Waldenstein 
in conversation with each other, and they parted appar- 
ently on the best of terms. 

The old general squeezed my hand until he made it 
ache when he bade me “good-night,” and whispered, less 
noisily than usual, “ That is happily over, Fräulein Lora ; 
but it still remains a mystery how I could have made 
such an ass of myself.” 


YI. 

The dreamy quiet of the next morning was very grate- 
ful to us all after the commotion we had passed through, 
and we sp^nt most of the time, until dinner, out-of-doors. 
The air was cool and fresh, with a slight tinge of the 
haziness of autumn, and the sun shone brightly, without 
being too hot. While we were taking our coffee under 
the trees, lazily enjoying ourselves, and hoping, secretly, 
that no one, for that day, would invade our little circle, 
KollneFs cabriolet rolled up to the gate. I was shocked 
at the man’s effrontery in thus unceremoniously intruding 
himself after what had happened, and I think the feeling 
was general : even Carola’s face clouded. 

Alma, of course, spoke her thoughts. “ I should have 
as soon expected the skies to fall as your presence here 
to-day, Herr von Kollner.” 

“ And the skies would be justified in falling, gracious 
Fräulein, had I come for the purpose of seeing the ladies 
instead of carrying off your brother,” was the smiling 
reply. 

“ Carry me off !” exclaimed Felix. 

“ Yes, Windhem, there’s no help for you. You must 


ELEONORE. 


5t 

go to Rabenhorst with me. I have heard an intimation 
that the Count desires to sell, and am going to strike 
while the iron is hot. Get into my cabriolet, and I will 
bring you back before evening.’’ 

“ 1 have not heard a syllable about any such sale,” 
objected Felix. 

“ But you have heard of monomania,” retorted Alma, 
before Kcillner had time to reply ; “and you know, too, 
that the old method of treatment with strait-jackets and 
plunge-baths has been done away. The course now 
pursued is to yield to the delusion in a measure, so as to 
make its absurdity manifest to the patient himself.” 

The glimpse I had obtained of Kollner’s hasty temper 
made me fear the effect of this raillery ; but he was in 
too good humor to be easily ruffled, and, turning to Felix, 
said, with a laugh, — 

“ Well, doctor, you know your duty, although I intend 
to convince you that the hallucination is on your part, not 
mine.” 

The good Felix consented rather grimly, and expressed 
his desire to leave at once, if he must go ; which decision, 
as I judged, was not particularly agreeable to the eager 
purchaser. The business occupied a remarkably short 
space of time, considering its importance, and they were 
scarcely out of sight, as it seemed to me, before the horse, 
panting and covered with sweat, was again reined up at 
the door. A few compliments to Sophie, judiciously ad- 
ministered, procured for the Baron an invitation to remain 
to tea, which, after a good many specious apologies, he 
accepted Felix, in the mean while, marched off to the 
stables, looking heartily ashamed and disgusted. 

“ Kollner led you a genuine wild-goose chase, didn’t 
he, Felix?” asked Alma, afterwards. 

“ Heaven knows I I should think he did,” he replied, 
fiercely. “ The steward laughed us in the face. It was 
all a sham, — an excuse to get here. 1 believe he knew 
the Count was away. Well, he’ll not make such a fool 
of me again I” 

“ He will not try it again,” answered his sister. “He 
knows too much for that. I am curious to see what will 
come next, he’s so fruitful in expedients. But fortunately 
c* 


58 


ELEONORE. 


I’ve wit enough to meet him on bis own ground, — he is 
sure of this evening, of course.” 

Kolliier’s tactics for awhile were to devote himself osten- 
sibly to Soi)hie, and keep up a kind of communication with 
me by means of ardent glances and occasional whispers. 
As captivated as 1 had been by this passion when 1 be- 
lieved it to be my servant, now that I knew it was master 
of the man, the charm was gone, and 1 allowed these de- 
monstrations to pass unnoticed. I kept him at a distance 
by remaining near Frau von Wiudhem, who, good 
woman, was very grateful for the pains I took to enter- 
tain her. In return she expatiated largely upon her ex- 
traordinary daughters, and entered into a detailed account 
of her domestic trials. I heard without listening to her 
story, merely throwing in a word now and then to assure 
her of my sympathy. 

“That is another new-fashioned contrivance,” said 
she, when the servant appeared to arrange the tea-table. 
“ Nowadays people must only drink a cup of tea and 
eat a few slices of bread and meat, instead of having a 
substantial supper. I suppose my girls know, but I can’t 
see why it is especially grand to satisfy one’s hunger but 
once a day. Felix thinks so too, and sometimes we have 
a meal together, with soup, or perhaps an omelet and 
stuffed pigeon.” 

“ A stuffed pigeon ?” I repeated, for the sake of saying 
something. 

“ Oh, you are thinking of currants, or something of 
that sort, but Felix wouldn’t touch that. I make a fill- 
ing out of meat and parsley, mixed with chopped mush- 
rooms. Felix and I agree about such things, and his 
betrothed too. Poor things ! I wish they could be mar- 
ried ; but it isn’t to be thought of now. Things will not 
be as fine with us when that happens, yet they will suit 
me better. I am not used to playing ‘great lady.’ My 
lost Felix was a small squire, who was glad, when the 
quarter came around, if he could pay his rents, and have 
something left for the family. We never thought of try- 
ing to make a show, but kept track of what was going 
on in the world, and went along with it just far enough 
to escape notice. Now, every one wants to be first, and 


ELEONORE. 


59 


it’s a chase that puts me out of breath. Poor people ape 
the rich, aud if their purses are too short to pay for all 
the finery they covet, the lack is made up by squeezing 
and screwing where no one can see it. Nobody looks 
into their stomachs, and so they starve them for the sake 
of handsome clothes to put on their backs. Ah, Fräu- 
lein Lora, the doctors say people’s nerves are not what 
they used to be, and I suppose it is so ; but if they ate 
proper food, at reasonable hours, as their grandmothers 
did, they would have nerves and blood like them, with- 
out taking iron for it, either. Why, if the habits of so- 
ciety continue as they are, we sha’n’t.need earthquakes, 
wars, aud cholera: the race will die out of itself.” 

“ Do you think so ?” I asked, as she paused for an 
answer. 

“Indeed I do, Fräulein Lora; besides, in spite of all 
their pains, girls are not as handsome as they were fifty 
years ago, and they don’t marry as soon. Men consider 
how much it costs to keep such ladies, and whether they 
won’t have to be put on too scanty an allowance to meet 
the expense.” 

Sophie came now to make the tea, and the old lady 
seated herself at the table among her “ wonderful daugh- 
ters,” where she disposed of such a quantity of eatables 
that I could not help thinking her stomach had its rights, 
notwithstanding the domestic innovations of the time. 

In the course of the evening I slipped out of the room 
for a solitary promenade, as I supposed unobserved, but 
Kollner followed me, aud was at my side before I had a 
chance to get out of his way. 

“ I know how importunate I am,” said he, in a low 
voice. “ I see how you try to avoid me, but I cannot 
bear this uncertainty- any longer, — tell me how I can gain 
your forgiveness ?” 

“What do you mean, Herr von Kollner?” I asked, 
coolly. We were directly in front of the windows, and 
the light from within showed me his features working 
under the strongest agitation. He did not heed my 
question, but continued: 

“ Have I not atoned, bitterly atoned, for one moment 
of thoughtless violence ? Could you but dream what I 


60 


ELEONORE. 


suffered when you showed such partiality to my rival, 
you might estimate the almost superhuman self-control 
it required to bear the sight with composure. It shows 
how great a hold this love has upon me that it could 
conquer my anger, and bring me to make the first ad- 
vance towards a reconciliation. You are the first woman 
who can boast such a victory, Lora. Let this plead for 
me. l^roclaim yourself the divinity I have pictured 
you, and shed upon me again the beams of your gracious 
regard.” 

1 was surprised, frightened, fascinated almost, by lan- 
guage so novel to me. Ought one not to pardon a fault 
acknowledged and repented of? Again the window re- 
vealed to me that beautiful face, over which tenderness 
and pain were chasing each other in rapid succession. 

“ You are silent, Lora. You do not answer me. Am 
I not worthy an answer? Must this cold indifference 
alone tell me how inexorable you are ?” 

“ You have surprised and troubled me, Herr von Koll- 
ner, and I do not know exactly what to say. There is 
surely no reason why you should beg my forgiveness, 
and besides, the petition is clothed in words which ” 

“ Which do require forgiveness,” interrupted the young 
man. “ Ah, Lora 1 when you judge me, whose whole 
soul is filled with burning devotion to you, by the con- 
ventional standards that apply to others D — n that 

girl !” he muttered between his teeth ; and looking up, I 
saw Alma in the door. 

It was strange that the victim of such all-engrossing 
love saw what I, in my “ cold indifference,” had not dis- 
covered, but that reflection came later. I, too, at that 
moment, felt her presence somewhat embarrassing ; but 
in spite of my reserve, she attached herself to us, and 
persisted in remaining until we returned to the parlor. 
Kolluer stayed until quite late, delighting Sophie with 
his sweet flatteries, and taking even Frau von Windhem 
captive by his ready wit and gallant speeches. 

“ Do you consider your pastor such a remarkable ora- 
tor ?” he asked of Felix, shortly before leaving. The 
latter had not yet recovered his good humor, and was 
reclining in an arm-chair, with a dreadfully-bored look 


ELEONORE. 


61 


upon his face, as if he would be obliged to his guest for 
saying “ good-night.” 

“ Don’t make our pastor the subject of your jokes, 
Herr von Kollner,” answered Felix. “ He’s a noble 
man, with quite sufficient talent to do his duty.” 

“ But I am in earnest, Windhem; some one has spoken 
to me very highly about him as a- preacher.” 

“ Then some one has made a fool of you,” was the 
reply. 

“ It may be,” replied Kollner, arising; — and with a very 
emphatic “ au remir, ladies,” bowed himself out. 

“ Sophie did not see that or she would have followed it 
up,” said Alma, as the door closed behind him. 

“What now, Alma? you are always puzzling me.” 

“Nothing, except that to-morrow we shall have a devout 
listener in church, who wishes to convince himself of the 
Demosthenic talents of our old pastor. Never mind, this 
is the last time his strategy will meet with success.” 

Sure enough, the first thing upon which my eyes rested 
as we entered the family pew the next ifiorning was the 
omnipresent Baron, seated between two old peasants and 
busily engaged in studying the hymn-book. Of course, 
after service, he came to tell us how abundantly satisfied 
he was concerning the preacher’s eloquence, and, of course, 
found an excuse for accompanying us home. I avoided 
him more studiously than ever, and in every way tried to 
show my dislike to his attentions. 

Not long after dinner the general’s carriage came in 
sight, greatly to our surprise, since that was a piece of 
property brought out only upon the rarest occasions, and 
never used for himself alone. He greeted us with a very 
grave face, and, without waiting for any questions, informed 
me that my aunt had been taken suddenly ill and desired 
my immediate return. There was no cause for alarm, he 
added, buts he seemed low-spirited and doubtless felt the 
need of having some one with her. The effect of this an- 
nouncement was various. Herr von Köllner’s brow dark- 
ened ; Sophie, I thought, appeared relieved at the prospect 
of losing a rival ; the idea of parting from Carola threw 
a cloud upon Bella’s face; and Felix murmured a few 
words of regret j Alma alone remained perfectly uncon- 

6 


62 


ELEONORE. 


cerned. As I left the room to get mj things in readiness, 
a mischievous twinkle in the general’s eyes, quite out of 
harmony with the intelligence he had brought, led me to 
suspect some deception. 

“ This is your work?” said I to Alma, on reaching my 
chamber. 

“ Yes, it is,” she replied ; and, throwing her arms around 
me, burst into tears. “ Forgive me, Lora, if I have caused 
you pain, — it is hardest for me. You do not, cannot, love 
this man, and you must not see him. Sophie’s vanity 
blinds her to his scheme, so there was nothing left but for 
me to write to the general to come for you.” 

“ Why didn’t you tell me of this, Alma, instead of 
frightening me with a story of my aunt’s sickness?” 

“ Because I wasn’t sure of you, and I intended you 
should leave whether you wished to go or not.” She 
straightened herself up, wiped away the tears, and her 
countenance resumed its old, energetic expression as she 
added, “ Yes, Lora, at the risk of losing your friendship, 
I determined to save you.” 

“ I think, Alma, you told me I would find him less at- 
tractive upon a near acquaintance than when seen in the 
dim distance of the park avenues,” I returned, trying to 
speak playfully. 

“Because I did not know him,” she answered. “I 
was not prepared for such audacity. Beware of him, 
Lora, — shun him as you would a serpent : for if he ob- 
tains the slightest advantage, you are lost. Fortunately, 
he is too hot-tempered to calculate prudently; and when 
you are gone, his devotions to Sophie will cease. You 
can come here then with perfect security, for she will 
never forgive him that sin. But now to business. I will 
help you pack.” 

I parted from Alma rather coolly, for this arbitrary 
management of my affairs did not please me ; but her 
manner was more affectionate than usual. She went with 
me to the door of the carriage, and as we drove out of the 
yard I saw her still gazing after us. 

^ Carola, I think, was pretty firmly persuaded that our 
visit had been cut short on Kollner’s account; but she im- 
agined it was I who had planned the return, and treated 


ELEONORE. 


63 


me accordingly to such tart opinions concerning my con- 
duct as, in her grievous disappointment, she considered 
justifiable. Tlie lack of sympathy between my companion 
and myself grew every day more apparent. 1 had not the 
least complaint to make of her, — she was amiable, obliging, 
and took great pains to make herself agreeable ; but an un- 
comfortable feeling of being continually watched haunted 
me, — even when her attention was directed elsewhere, the 
furtive glance from beneath those long eyelashes showed 
me that 1 was not forgotten. Her opinions and sentiments 
were never obtruded, and yet unconsciously there awoke 
in me a dread of them, they were so discriminating, so 
carefully assailant of the weaker side. A short interview 
sufficed to discover to her the exposed points in a person’s 
character, and she reproduced them most skillfully for the 
amusement of her hearers. Her mind, like a daguerreo- 
type, reflected all inequalities, and its conceptions, while 
they resembled the original, were still, in a measure, cari- 
catures. 1 saw the unfairness of her criticisms, and they 
helped me to conquer that tendency to narrowness and 
partiality which still lingered in my own mind. Intel- 
lectually 1 had not assurance enough to oppose her, and 
1 lacked as well that strength of will which alone can 
make such power available, so that all my efforts to with- 
stand her influence were fitful and violent, — more like the 
capriciousness of a child than the result of rational con- 
viction and independence. To avoid being with her, I 
was oftener in my aunt’s society than before she came, 
and this, while it gratified the old lady, became also to 
me a great source of comfort. Carola took good care 
never to make her defects the subject of ridicule before 
me, — she was too prudent for that, — but I frequently ob- 
served a sneer upon her lips, and knew that the satire was 
only hidden away. The ascendency she obtained over 
all who came under her influence was wonderful. Poll, 
Merni, and Martin were, I believe, the only beings at Rut- 
witz that did not recognize this. The last neither re- 
spected nor feared her. With more candor than gallantry, 
he styled her an artful devil, and accused Nannie of being 
“ cat’s-paw to the Fräulein.” 

My first open rupture with Carola occurred a few days 


64 


ELEONORE. 


after we came back. She seemed possessed with a per- 
fect mania for promenading in the park, and kept harass- 
ing me by invitations to accompany her, which I steadily 
refused to do, since Baron Kollner had again taken up his 
station opposite my window, and we must inevitably 
have met him in our w'alk. At last, tired of resistance, I 
determined to put an end to these importunities, and, 
pointing to the form among the trees, I asked, sharply, — 

“ Are you convinced now, Carola, of the impossibility 
of going to the park? You must know that Herr von 
Köllner spends his afternoons there.” 

She regarded me with \vell-feigned astonishment: 
“ Herr von Köllner here every afternoon ! and I must have 
seen him ! On the contrary, Lora, I judged by your con- 
duct that his attentions were not acceptable to you, and 
it never entered my mind that you had made secret ad- 
vances I” 

“ Certainly not,” I replied, indignantly ; “ and I have 
never done it.” 

“ Then how does it happen he is in the park every 
day ?” she continued, in her former tone of surprise. 
“ No young man would be so presuming, if he had not 
received some encouragement from the lady.” 

“That he has never received, — no, not the slightest,” 
I replied ; and the tears sprang to my eyes. 

She gave me one of her searching looks, and then, ob- 
serving my agitation, said, consolingly, “ I believe you, 
Lora; but the world, I fear, will judge differently.” 

Her words startled me. “ I am obliged to you, Carola, 
for showing me my danger,” said I, after a slight pause. 
“ My silence concerning these visits has made me appear 
like an accomplice. I will go this moment to my aunt 
and ask her advice as to what it is best to do.” 

Ths seemed to alarm her greatly, and she seized my 
hand to hold me back : “ Don’t be rash, Lora I That 
would only make matters worse. Herr von Köllner has 
so long paid homage to you in this way, that it would 
seem now as if I had been playing spy, and that is neither 
just to you nor myself.” 

“What shall I do, then?” I asked, feeling a partial 
truth in her words. 


ELEONORE, 


65 


“ Nothing at all. If Kollner sees that you really intend 
to let him alone, he will give up the chase himself,” she 
answered, with a little laugh. 

That “ really,” in Carola’s reply, sounded rather equivo- 
cal, but I did not ask any explanation, and the subject 
dropped. After this the lady went out by herself, while I 
remained with my aunt. Whether she met Kollner in 
some of her solitary rambles and persuaded him to forego 
his daily visits, or whether the same had grown tiresome 
to him, 1 could only conjecture, — they ceased at all events. 

“ Was not my advice good, Lora ?” said Carola, a few 
days after he disappeared. ‘‘ You see, the Baron has gone 
of his own accord. A man knows very well how far he 
can venture, — it is the lady who fixes the limits.” 

“ You must have great experience in matters of that 
kind, to draw such unerring conclusions,” I replied, bit- 
terly. “ You are mistaken, however, if you suppose I 
do not see through your plans ” 

I was frightened at the effect of my random shot. She 
changed color quickly, her eyelids drooped, and the thin 
lips contracted spasmodically. We stood for some time 
coolly regarding each other, and then she inquired what I 
meant by so singular a speech. It was my turn now to 
be embarrassed. What did I mean, to be sure ? I could 
not tell myself, — it was merely a general expression for 
my lack of confidence in her. 

“ You have spoken to Kollner,” said I, at length. “ You 
have told him yourself not to come here again, and,” I 
continued more earnestly, “you wish to make me be- 
lieve that I have encouraged him, although you know it 
is not true.” 

She breathed more freely. “ An easy way to justify 
one’s self, only, alas ! it does not carry conviction with 
it,” she replied, scornfully. 

“I never thought of jukifying myself to you,” was my 
haughty reply. 

“ That is to say, the gracious Fräulein would give 
her presuming companion to understand that she does not 
consider her judgment of any worth. I will confine my- 
self hereafter to the duties of my position, acknowledging 
my young lady’s enviable gift of enforcing silence.” 

6 * 


66 


ELEONORE. 


She had come off victor, as usual in our contests ; and, 
uttering a few half-intelligible words of apology, I fled 
to my aunt’s room. 

For some time I neither saw nor heard anything of 
Baron Kollner. Carola’s championship, as I have said, 
caused him to fall immeasurably in my esteem, and the 
very sound of his name had become hateful to me. This 
state of feeling may, perhaps, have rendered me some- 
what prepared for the clearing up of the mystery which 
surrounded him, and I was hardly surprised at the news 
Frau Miiller brought us the next week. 

“I suppose 1 have to thank my Lora for this visit 
said my aunt, welcoming the old lady most warmly. 

“ Yes, I came on Lora’s account ; but it is with a sword, 
not an olive-branch. I trust it will not go through your 
heart, my dear,” she added to me. “ Do you remember 
meeting at our house a Herr von Kollner, who ” 

“ Herr von Kollner !” repeated my aunt. 

“Yes, the same; a young man whom I did not like, 
and whose attentions to this dear child were far from re- 
ceiving my approbation. I took it upon me at the time 
to warn her against him, and determined, if possible, to 
find out who he was. By a chance allusion to Laura’s 
portrait I learned that he had been in Florence ; so, at 
Alma’s suggestion, I wrote at once to the Countess Ros- 
petti, asking her if she knew of the man, and the part he 
played in that city. The last of the question, somewhat 
to my surprise, was answered literally, — his role was 
that of ring-rider in the circus.” 

“ The circus !” cried aunt and myself in one breath. 

“An exalted position, was it not?” continued the old 
lady. “ He told me himself that while there he was 
devoted to his art. I thought, of course, of the galleries, 
the Pitti and Yecchio ; but he meant the ring. He went 
by the name of Orlando, but this was recognized as a 
nom de guerre, for the noble birth of the young artist, as 
well as his former position in the army, were made use of 
by the Director to serve his interests. No one knew his 
real name, but that there might be no mistake, the 
Countess sent me his picture, which is for sale in all the 
shops of Florence.” 


ELEONORE. 


et 

As she spoke, Frau Müller drew a roll from her 
pocket, and opening it, displayed the unmistakable feat- ^ 
ures of the elegant Baron. 

“ Do not suppose I consider it a disgrace for a man to 
be connected with the circus,” she proceeded ; “ he might 
better earn his bread in that way than be dependent 
upon others. The shame lies in falling from an army 
officer to such employment. That indicates a radical 
defect somewhere, and I was not surprised to hear further, 
that Signor Orlando had gained for himself the reputation 
of a reckless, dangerous fellow. My little Laura — Laura 
Rospetti, I mean — seems to have fallen into his toils her- 
self. The beautiful bouquets, which, you remember, Ktill- 
ner mentioned, were thrown, alas I too frequently, and 
her husband finally took her to Sicily. There Seems a sort 
of crazy excitement over these fellows among Italian 
ladies, as in fact there is with us in Germany. They 
could not receive him openly into society, but he was 
invited informally to some of the best houses, and taking 
advantage of the free ways of the Italians, worked a world 
of mischief.” 

A long silence followed Mamma Muller’s story. Aunt 
was plunged in deep reflection, and 1 felt inwardly para- 
lyzed by what I had heard. 

“ I received Laura’s letter only yesterday evening,” 
resumed the old lady, “and canie at the earliest moment 
to communicate my intelligence. Lora must be protected 
from this dissolute Orlando.” 

“ I thank you with my whole heart for your kindness, 
dear friend,” said my aunt, at length. “ All that I heard 
of the man was against him, and this confirms my worst 
fears. Probably he heard in Florence of the family of 
the GermaTi ambassador, and came to the conclusion that 
a marriage with the daughter and heiress would afford 
release from his artistic career, and furnish him a main- 
tenance. I remember he was here before I returned 
with Lora ; doubtless that was an expedient to introduce 
his name to her.” 

I remembered it, too, and my cheeks crimsoned with 
shame. Did I not know that Kollner’s interest began 
before he ever saw me, and was I not also aware of my 


68 


ELEONORE. 


attraction as a rich heiress ? Excess of vanity alone pre-» 
vented me from putting these two bits of knowledge to-® 
gether. How foolish, how weak, I had behaved ! how jj. 
little had I done to awaken respect in him and discourage ^ 
thereby his crafty design ! I was ashamed of my agita- 
tion in his presence, ashamed of the fascination his 
manners and exterior had gained over me. This dis- 
closure opened a frightful chasm in my inner world, in 
whose depths was swallowed up the vain structure of 
opinion and sentiment which I had erected in former years. 
Only one bare certainty remained for a new foundation ; 
namely, that appearances are not the measure of the 
man, that outward gifts of fortune weigh not a tittle in 
the righteous estimate of human character. I had finished 
the lesson begun when I left Madame St. Aubin’s, the 
most valuable one of my life. 

When Carola joined us after Frau Miiller’s departure, 
she must have seen that something unusual had occurred, 
for we were both silent and thoughtful. She said nothing, 
however, and not until we left my aunt for the night was 
an allusion made to our visitor. 

“ You do not know what you missed,” I said then, in 
reply to her question. “The news she brought would 
have interested you greatly.’’ 

“ Indeed ! Can’t you tell me what it was ?” 

“It would be too tiresome to repeat an hour’s conversa- 
tion, — ask my aunt to-morrow, perhaps she will be more ac- 
commodating. Good-night.” And I entered my room and 
closed the door. 

There was a satisfaction — ignoble, I admit — in knowing 
I had sent her to bed with as poor a prospect for a night’s 
rest as I had myself. 


ELEONORE. 


^69 


YIL 

“ Oh, my lady, something dreadful has happened, — a 
dreadful accident I’’ cried John, bursting in upon us one 
afternoon, his face as white as a sheet and scarcely able 
to speak, he was so out of breath. “ He isn’t dead yet, 
— not yet, but he lies with his eyes shut and doesn’t 
move.” 

“ Who is not dead, J ohn ?” asked my aunt, considerably 
startled. “ Tell me at once !” 

“ I don’t know, but Inspector Wehrman thinks- it is 
Baron Köllner, my lady. He was coming out of the field 
and saw it all.” 

“Does Wehrman know Baron Köllner? What makes 
him think it is he ?” said my aunt. 

“ It is a stranger, my lady, and the Inspector knows 
everybody around here.” 

At this moment Martin appeared, perfectly calm, and his 
features wearing their characteristic expression of ill-na- 
tured contempt. “ I beg pardon for disturbing you, my 
lady, but Baron Köllner has been thrown from his horse 
in front of the house. I wonder at it, and the horse cer- 
tainly must have been astonished, for ” 

“ Keep to your subject, Martin,” interrupted my aunt, — 
“ is the Baron injured ?” 

“ That no one knows but himself, and he has not spoken 
yet, my lady,” replied Martin, — “ his bones are all sound, 
that’s sure.” 

“ Perhaps he has fractured his spine,” suggested Carola, 
anxiously. 

Martin made a sort of grimace. “ Perhaps he has, 
Fräulein. But what I came to say, my lady, is, that I had 
him carried to the farm-house, as I thought they knew 
better there what to do for him.” 

“You did right,” replied my aunt, after a moment’s 
reflection. “ Have a physician called at once, and send 
the farmer to me, I ” 


ELEONORE. 


10 


“ Do you intend to leave the young man in such hands 
exclaimed Carola, so excited that she seemed forgetful of 
all propriety. “ Will you close your doors against a stran- 
ger wounded, it may be, dying? Will you Forgive 

me, my lady, but the thought, of leaving the sufferer 
without assistance is more than I can bear.” 

“You are unnecessarily concerned, my dear Carola,” 
said my aunt. “ The sufferer shall not want assistance, — 
Martin will see that a physician is summoned ; and you, 
John, go for the farmer, or — stay, his wife will be the 
best one, after all.” 

The two servants withdrew, and my aunt shortly fol- 
lowed them. She had been gone but a few moments, 
when the door opened and General Werding’s beaming 
face shone upon us. 

“ Good-afternoon, ladies,” said the old gentleman. 
“ Where is your aunt, Fräulein Lora ? I have a fine piece 
of news, and am in a hurry to explode it.” 

“ News for news, general,” I replied, — “we have some 
ourselves this time.” 

“ What is it ?” he asked, looking from one to the other. 
“You are laughing, and Fräulein Carola looks sober.” 

“ I do not consider it a laughing matter for a man to 
break his neck,” replied the latter. 

“ Break his neck ! — that’s bad,” replied the general, 
without evincing any great alarm. “ Is there no hope of 
repairing it ? — whose is it ?” 

“ Baron Kollner’s,” I replied, without raising my eyes. 

The old man gave a long, shrill whistle. How much 
it expressed we learned when my aunt returned and the 
important news-bag was unpacked. It seems he, like 
Frau Müller, troubled by Kollner’s attentions to me, had 
been making inquiries into his past life, and the result 
was that the profligate cousin of the army proved to be 
no other than the gentleman himself. The evidence in this 
case, too, was a photograph which the general had re- 
ceived from one of his former officers, commander of the 
dragoons in which Ko'llner served. 

“In my writing-desk lies a mate to yoiir picture, dear 
general,” said my aunt, when he had finished his story. 
“ But the military uniform is wanting, — he is arrayed 


ELEONORE. 


n 


there in a fantastic costume peculiar to artists. I sup- 
pose ring-riders are artists, are they not?” she continued. 
“ Herr von Kollner has recently won great triumphs iu 
the circus of Florence, and the fac-simile of the celebrated 
Orlando — his pseudonym, as I learn — is displayed in 
every street in the city.” 

The general whistled again, and nodded his head em- 
phatically. “I understand it all now,” said he, half to 
himself, — “ that absurd rage over Waldenstein’s harmless 
speech.” 

“We will talk of that some other time,” said my aunt. 
“ The question now is, how to get rid of him.” 

“ I will take care of that,” was the reply. “Herr Or- 
lando will not give you any further trouble. But I hope 
he’s not badly hurt, I want to pronounce sentence upon 
him at once, — he will be surer of his deserts. I shouldn’t 
wonder if it was all a farce, — a trick to get into the castle.” 

“ You will not have long to wait,” replied my aunt. 
“ The doctor says there is no appearance of any injury, a 
sprained ankle at the worst, and that he can be salely 
removed to-morrow.” 

I pitied Carola from my heart during this conversation. 
At first she seemed angry and defiant, and then such a 
look of passive despair settled upon her countenance as I 
shall never forget. But the girl was a mystery to me, 
and never more so than on this occasion. During my 
aunt’s last remark every trace of emotion vanished, and 
when she spoke, her voice was perfectly firm. 

“ I must take the liberty of reminding you. General 
Werding,” said she, “that this affair should be conducted 
with great caution. Not on account of the young man, — 
I am convinced that he is, to say the least, unworthy our 
regard, — but for Lora’s sake. As you say, be is passionate, 
and if you irritate him he may report the affair in a way 
highly unfavorable to her. No one can deny that his 
personal appearance is very striking, and I am sure we 
cannot blame Lora for being attracted by it, and for 
showing her preference, perhaps, a little too openly.” 

“Zounds, Fräulein Carola!” shouted the old gentle- 
man, springing to his feet. “ Do you mean to say Lora 
has favored the advances of this fellow ?” 


ELEONORE. 


n 

My aunt lifted her hand beseechingly, while I sat; 
dumb with astonishment, gazing at Carola. 

“ 1 feel most keenly the thankless task I have under- 
taken,” she continued, “and if I thought of myself 
alone I should hold my peace, but so much kindness has 
been extended to me in this house, Lora herself has 
taken me so warmly into her friendship, that I 

“ Come to the point, for Heaven’s sake I” interrupted 
the general. 

“You cannot wonder. General Werding, that I hesi- 
tate to say what may cost me the love of a friend,” was 
the pathetic return. 

“ Humph I” ejaculated he, shifting uneasily on his chair. 
“We will have facts, if you please, Fräulein.” 

“ Facts are difficult to give in this case, although they 
are not wholly wanting,” she replied. “ A moderate 
knowledge of human nature mufet enable one to see 
that a man in his senses would never persist in such 
attentions without encouragement, especially so far as 
to spend all his afternoons within sight of the lady’s 
window.” 

My aunt and the general turned their eyes upon me in- 
quiringly, while I blushed scarlet, and looked as conscious 
of guilt as Carola could desire. 

“ I think you have but to look at Lora, General Werd- 
ing, to know the truth of my words. I cannot assert 
positively whether meetings took place frequently in the 
park or not. I learned of his presence there accidentally, 
and then succeeded in inducing Lora to give up her walks ; 
but it is significant that after this Herr von Kollner’s 
visits ceased” 

I was, as I have elsewhere stated, of a timid nature, 
and Carola’s accusation at first stunned me; but as she 
proceeded, the flush of shame upon my cheeks deepened 
to one of anger, — her deliberate falsehood and cool ma- 
liciousness aroused all my strength. 

“ Can you believe, aunt, — can you. General Werding, 
that I am capable of holding secret intercourse with a 
man whose attentions I publicly refuse ?” 1 exclaimed, 
trembling with excitement. “ I have done wrong, — very 
wrong, in not telling you of these visits before ; but the 


ELEONORE. 


T3 


fear of creating a disturbance restrained me. I have 
never been in the park afternoons, and have spoken to 
Herr von Köllner there but twice: once when I saw him 
for the first time in my life, and again when the Wind- 
hems were here and 1 could not help going down.’^ 

My voice faltered, and the tears came to my eyes as I 
continued: “I will tell the whole truth, — at the out- 
set his fascinating appearance did captivate me, but the 
charm was speedily dissipated, and as to betraying my 
admiration in any way, 1 know I never did.” 

“ Singular, is it not,” sneered Carola, “ that he con- 
tinued nevertheless to frequent the park until' upon my 
advice, you ceased to notice him ?” 

“ What do you mean by talking in this way, Carola ?” 
I demanded. “ You were all the time his faithful inter- 
cessor, — you knew as well as I of his visits to the park, 
and yet you tormented me by your invitations to walk 
there ; and when finally I gave the reason of my continued 
refusals, it was you who dissuaded me from telling my 
aunt. I fully believe you saw Köllner, and told him 
yourself not to come any more, that you might have a 
pretext for making this charge against me.” 

Carola changed color and started to reply, but my aunt 
silenced her : 

“ Enough !” said she, decidedly. “ Lora has acted like 
a thoughtless child. Experience will teach her that a 
disturbance is never to be shunned when necessary for 
future security. You may leave us now, Fräulein Göttin ; 
further discussion of this subject can be postponed until 
another time.” 

The general drew a deep breath when the door closed, 
and after a short silence, said, energetically, “ Excuse an 
old soldier’s bluntness, my friend, but that Carola is an 
infamous jade, and if I were in your place I would get 
her out of the house before sunset.” 

“ That I intend to do, my dear general, although not 
quite as summarily as you suggest,” replied my aunt, 
with a smile. 

As I thought over Carola’s conduct, I became more and 
more perplexed. If she really loved this Köllner, it was 
absolutely heroic to make use of such means to detain 


74 


ELEONORE. 


him near her. I certainly could never favor a man’s love 
for another in order to catch a glimpse of him occasionally 
myself. Or was it hatred of me which prompted her to 
act thus ? It was all a riddle, which time alone could 
solve. 

That evening “ my companion” complained of headache 
and retired early, while I sat up later than usual to finish 
a book which I had commenced reading aloud to my aunt. 
The volume was an interesting one, and the hours passed 
unheeded. Suddenly Zephyr started up with an angry 
growl from his resting-place on my dress, and Memi began 
barking furiously. “ Thieves I thieves!” screamed the 
parrot, shaking herself awake. “ Fools, go to the devil I’' 

“ What is the matter with the creatures ?” said my aunt, 
looking at her watch. “ Why, it is almost twelve o’clock, 
exactly the hour for thieves.” 

She rang for Louisa, who searched the halls and stair- 
way thoroughly, but found no reason for the alarm, so we 
laughed at our fears and went to bed. I might have 
slept half an hour, when a low whimper from Ze[)hyr 
awoke me. He had crawled out of his basket and was 
scratching the bedclothes to make me hear. AVhen I 
spoke his name he jumped up, and, nestling close by me, 
shivered and whined most pitifully. I laid my hand 
upon his head to quiet him, and then listened for the 
cause of his fright. For a few moments all was still, 
and then I heard the sound of footsteps along the pas- 
sage and a low murmur of voices. At my door they 
halted, and I could hear the whispering distinctly. My 
heart beat rapidly, and I trembled so that I could hardly 
reach the little night-bell which stood by my side. Its 
clear tones gave me courage. I remembered, too, that 
Louisa had looked in every closet and corner before she 
left, and that I had fastened my door securely. No one 
was in the room at all events, so I arose and lighted the 
lamp. The sight of familiar objects reassured me. I 
listened again, but all was quiet. My bell had failed to 
awaken Nannie, and I concluded to make no further at- 
tempts to rouse any one. They were gone now, whoever 
they were, and it would be foolish to alarm my aunt and 
the servants needlessly. In the morning I found that no 


ELEONORE. 


75 


one but myself had been disturbed. Carola was awake 
most of the night on account of her headache, she said, 
and would certainly liave heard any unusual noise. She 
advised me not to keep Zephyr in my room for the future, 
if he was such an alarmist. 

The blue sky and fresh air attracted me strongly out- 
of-doors after breakfast ; but I had resolved not to" leave 
the house without my aunt so long as Herr von Kollnor 
remained in the neighborhood. I was ready for our morn- 
ing ride earlier than usual, and went out to say a kind 
word to Martin, whom I saw sitting in solitary state on 
his box. The old fellow seemed to entertain quite an 
affection for me in his rude fashion, while I, if 1 did not 
actually like him, had grown tolerant of his peculiarities. 
But he returned my “good-morning” this time rather 
solemnly, and, after looking around cautiously, said, in a 
hoarse w^hisper, “ If my young lady is willing, I should 
like to say a word or two to her.” 

“As many as you please, Martin,” said I, springing 
into the carriage. I suspected he wanted to free his 
mind about Louisa or Nannie, with both of whom he was 
continually at war. 

“ This family can testify,” he began, slowly, “ that I 
have never meddled with things which do not belong to 
me. I have enough to do with the horses, and if John 
had more brains in his head, or could use his eyes for 
something besides wiping plates, then I should have 
nothing to say.” Here he paused in silent reflection upon 
John’s intellectual deficiencies, until I grew impatient. 

“ Is that all, Martin ?” . 

He screwed up one eye so tight that it nearly drew the 
corner of his mouth to meet it, and opened the other 
wide enough to see for both, making of his face a sort oh 
isosceles triangle. 

“ Does my young lady think a man with a sprained 
ankle can leap and run like a deer ?” he asked, slyly. 

“ Certainly not, Martin ; but what put that 'into your 
head? — who has done it?” 

“I saw Baron Kollner, who was laid up stiff all day 
yesterday on Madame Werner’s best sofa, go across the 
yard last night like a cat,” he replied. 


IQ 


ELEONORE. 


“ Last niglit I You must be mistaken, Martin, — ‘ all cats 
are gray at night,’ you know.” 

“ Yes, that’s the saying; but I knew that young man’s 
dress in spite of the darkness.” 

“ Where did you see the Baron ?” I asked. 

He straightened hiniself up and cleared his throat as 
if about to make a speech. “ Last night I heard Tyras 
barking, — he’s a knowing animal, and whenever one of 
tlie horses gets his foot over the chain or anything else 
happens, he lets me know. I got up and went to the 
stable, but it was all right. But still the dog kept on, so 
I went to the window to see if there was somebod}^ out- 
side. Just as I raised the curtain a man ran through the 
yard, and I’ll never trust my eyes again if it wasn’t that 
fellow. I watched him crawl into the window of the 
farm-house, and then went back to bed.” 

“ Where did he come from, Martin ?” I inquired, after a 
pause. 

“That I can’t tell exactly, but he was on this side of 
the castle, and as he couldn’t have been taking a walk in 
the garden, I suppose he was in the house.” 

“ But what could Baron Kollner be doing in the house 
at that time of night ?” said I, incredulously. 

Martin smiled in a good-natured, fatherly way; “My 
young lady doesn’t know much of the world, nor of the 
bad people in it. The Baron is a man who will gain 
his ends at all hazards, — you’ve only to look at him to see 
that, — and if one way fails, he’ll try another. Waiting- 
maids, too, are miserable creatures ; they’ll sell themselves 
to the devil any day for a bit -of finery.” 

“ Martin !” I cried, “ what do yon mean ? Yon ” 

“ Don’t make a mistake, Fräulein Lora. Louisa and I 
are not very gpod friends, my lady’s kindness has spoiled 
her, but she’s no Judas. It’s that vain, silly Nannie.” 

“Nannie!” I repeated, and her neglect of my night- 
bell occurred to me. 

“ I do not call names,” he replied. “ But be on the 
lookout, my young lady. I haven’t done this to frighten 
you, and you needn’t be uneasy. John, of course, has 
no more sense than a hen ; but I’m here,, and nothing 
shall happen.” 


ELEONORE. 


7t 


Mj aunt and Carola now appeared in the door, and 
Martin returned to his box. I had had enough of secrets, 
and at the first opportunity repeated this story to my 
aunt. She considered the insinuation against Nannie 
wholly unjust; and for myself, the more I thought of it, 
the more firmly persuaded I was that Martin had mis- 
taken the person, that the man he saw was one of the 
servants, or possibly the Inspector. Kollner, however, 
was like a terrible incubus upon me for the next few days. 
I dreaded to go out, lest I might meet him ; and night 
and day an undefined fear pursued me. At last the gen- 
eral came, and released me from my durance. 

“I had less trouble with him than I anticipated,’’ he 
added, after informing us of his departure. 

“ He was, of course, astonished at my information, but 
saw plainly that his business in this region was ended, 
and declared his intention of leaving without any sug- 
gestions to that effect from me. By the way, he says he 
never heard of Lora in Florence. He saw her once in 
the theatre, while she was at school, and fell in love with 
her there. This sudden affection brought him to repent 
of his misdeeds, and he determined to become a better 
man. He seemed resigned to his fate, looking upon it as 
a just punishment for past sins; still, he wais persuaded 
he could have made Lora happy. 1 allowed him to say 
his say, but it didn’t make much impression upon me, — 
a man who really intends to lead a better life will not be- 
gin as 'he did here. But he has paid his bill at the hotel 
and gone, and it is to be hoped that is the last we shall 
ever know of Baron Kollner.” 

“ Are you not a little hard upon the poor man. Gen- 
eral Werding?” asked Carola, in her blandest tones. 
“ Ought not this deep, holy love to claim our sympathy ? 
Ought one ” 

“ Well, Fräulein Carola,” interrupted the general, rather 
impatiently, ‘‘ in my opinion the best thing is to drop the 
veil of oblivion over this deep, holy love. 1 think we 
have had enough of it.” 

“ One thing in conclusion,” said I, laughing. “Unfor- 
tunately for the consistency of his story, I was never in 
a theatre or concert-room while at Madame St. Aubiu’s.” 

7 ^ 


78 


ELEONORE. 


A short time after the termination of this episode in my 
life, I was thrown into a flutter of delight by the recep- 
tion of a letter from my mother. To my astonishment 
it bore the post-mark of the capital. “You will be 
greatly surprised at the date of this letter, my dear little 
Ella,” she wrote, “ hardly more so than myself, however, 
for the journey from Florence seems all a dream to me. 
Your father was unexpectedly appointed Minister of 
Foreign Affairs, and our removal followed so immedi- 
ately, that I scarcely had time to make the necessary 
preparations for our departure. But in all our confusion, I 
did not forget that we should pass within a few miles of 
your home, my Ella, and that at last — at last, I was to 
see my darling child. Ah, how can men have the heart 
to follow their judgment always, and how can they be 
so unyielding when its decisions are once made ! I seem 
unreasonable to myself when I reflect how clearly, how 
very clearly, my husband pointed out the urgency of his 
business, and the impossibility of delay. My first im- 
pulse was to leave him and come alone to see you, but, 
my dear Ella, the voice of duty forbade that. Your 
father is no longer young, and requires my care, my com- 
pany, and I^could not have rested, even with you, when 
I knew that he needed me. You are too young yet to 
feel the sternness of duty, and the sacrifices it demands ; 
but believe your mother, these sacrifices must come, even 
though the heart bleed with them. Let us hope that the 
future will reward us for the past, that your father will 
soon permit you to return to us. What happiness in the 
mere thought ! — when I shall no more send my kisses 
and messages of love, but actually hold you in my arms.” 
c The letter was all I could desire, but somehow the 
words had an empty sound, — her affectionate assurances 
seemed intended to beguile the bitter pain of disappoint- 
ment which they inflicted. For the first time a shadow 
fell upon -my clear trust in Edith’s love. Was my aunt 
right? Had I mistaken tinsel for gold? It was but a 
momentary misgiving, however, which glided ignomini- 
ously away, and left my heart sealed to her worship 
more securely than before. I took the letter at once to 
my aunt j the sooner the humiliating announcement was 


ELEONORE. 


79 


over the better. While she was reading it, Carola en- 
tered the room. 

‘‘I have come for you to go to the park, Lora,” said 
she. It is a shame to waste these beautiful autumn 
days in the house.” 

“ Thank you, I have no desire to go out,” I replied, 
coolly. 

“ A walk will divert you if you have received bad 
news,” she urged. 

I looked up quickly. How should she know what I 
had heard ? Her hypocritical sympathy provoked me 
beyond endurance. ‘‘I do not wiah to go with you,” 
said I, turning away abruptly. 

“Ah, indeed I that is a reason which there is no gain- 
saying. It can only be met by you must, and that it is 
not my prerogative to utter. I appeal to our mutual 
authority' however, and entreat Frau von Rutwitz to 
use her influence with you. Your health, my dear Lora, 
makes me thus troublesome.” 

“ I see no reason why my niece should accompany 
you, unless she chooses to do so,” replied my aunt, 
haughtily, “ If that is your pleasure, you are at perfect 
liberty to go.” 

I waited some little time after she left us, and then 
started for my room to give Nannie a piece of work. 
To my surprise, there stood Carola, a few feet from the 
door, 

“ Have you changed your mind ?” she asked, smilingly. 

“ No ! and you do not seem to have taken the way to 
the park,” I replied. 

“All roads lead to Rome, you know. I went in search 
of a book, and have just found it. I am sorry we can- 
not read it together.” 

“ A pleasant morning to you !” said I, shortly, and 
went on my errand. Nannie was out, and thinking 
maybe I could take the few needed stitches myself, I 
went for her sewing-basket. The little chamber was in 
perfect order, bearing witness to the neatness and taste 
of its occupant. The work-table stood under the win- 
dow, carefully covered to protect it from the dust. As 
I lifted the cloth, a note fell to the floor. It was open, 


80 


ELEONORE. 


and I could not help reading the great, awkward writing 
as I picked it up. “ This afternoon at four o^clock. The 
usual spot in the park. I have a great deal to tell you . — 
W.” I replaced the precious missive, took what I wanted 
• from the basket, and was about leaving the room, when a 
plaintive moan from one corner stopped me. It sounded 
like some animal crying for help ; a dog, probably, shut 
up in the closet. I unlocked the door quickly, and my 
poor little Zephyr, with a cry of joy, sprang out. He 
must have slipped in for a nap when it was open, I 
thought, and Nannie had ignorantly made him a pris- 
oner. 

The next day, as I was sitting with my aunt, after break- 
fast, Martin unexpectedly presented himself. Usually, 
when he sought an audience with his mistress, it was to 
inform her that Louisa had a stiff neck, that Martin 
would not eat, or some such momentous misfoi’tune; so 
she asked, playfully, “Is one of the horses sick, Martin?” 

He shook his head. 

“ Is the dog dead, then, or what has gone wrong in 
the stables ?” 

“ The stables are all right, my lady. I wish I could 
say as much of some other things,” he added. 

My aunt opened her eyes. “ In Heaven’s name, what 
has happened ? Speak out I” 

But the old fellow did not like to be hurried. Jle 
looked at us gravely, shook his head several times by 
way of preface, and then began : “ My lady, if that Nan- 
nie is not sent away there will be trouble.” 

My aunt appeared relieved. She was aware of his 
antipathy to pretty young girls. “What has Nannie 
done to offend you, Martin ?” she asked, with a merry 
twinkle in her eyes. 

“ Too much of some things, and too little of others,” 
was the ambiguous reply. “ I have my own faults it’s 
true, but withal, brains enough ” 

“ What has this to do with Nannie ?” said aunt, sternly. 

“ Nothing particularly, my lady, only if people whose 
business it is to look after the household don’t keep 
their eyes open, others must. Yesterday afternoon a 
carriage stopped at the lower garden-gate ; the gate 


ELEONORE. 


81 


was open, and Nannie in the yard. If that has nothing 
to do with the young woman, you may ea,ll me a fool, 
that’s all.” 

Another solemn pause followed, and then he resumed : 
“ I sat smoking my pipe in front of the stables, as I* 
always do after dinner, when I saw Nannie slip out of 
the house and go towards the park. She seemed in a 
great flutter, and went as if some one was behind her 
with a whip. I suspected mischief, and so took after her 
as fast as I could, but, unluckily, missed her. When I 
turned back to the castle, there was a black cloth hang- 
ing out of one of the windows. 'A blind man could see 
that this was a signal to somebody, so I ran to ask John 
whether Fräulein Lora had gone out, and advised him 
to keep her in the house for awhile. Of course he stared 
like an idiot, but then — you can’t wash a negro white be- 
cause it’s best for him to be so. Well, I went next down 
to the gate, for it came into my head that an enemy 
might be hanging around the grounds. Sure enough, 
there stood a close carriage, and just as I came in sight, 
a man, wrapped from head to foot in a cloak, came out 
of the park, got in, and drove off. He must have nearly 
killed his horses if he went far, for he showed them no 
mercy. Maybe I ought to have come to you at once, 
my lady, but I always like to sleep over anything im- 
portant. Matters look different in the morning some- 
times.” 

After the first surprise, aunt leaned quietly back in her 
chair, seeming rather amused than otherwise by Martin’s 
tale. When he ended, she thanked him for his zeal and 
faithfulness, promising to examine into the affair, and if 
Nannie had been guilty of any indiscretion, to dismiss her 
promptly. 

“ I am sorry you have heard this, Lora,” said she, 
when the old man left us ; “ it may make you uncom- 
fortable. But I do not myself think there is the least 
cause for apprehension. Nannie goes into the park, an 
old cloak, probably, has been hung in the window to air, 
and a carriage which may have belonged to one of the 
neighbors, stops at the gate. Each particular is simple 
and natural enough in itself, and they have necessarily no 


82 


ELEONORE. 


connection. I cannot see what object Köllner could have 
in tnrnpering with Nannie, but I will question her.” 

The poor child’s confusion when my aunt inquired 
where she was the afternoon before, impressed us both, 
and when I mentioned the note she burst into tears. 

“ I haven’t done anything bad,” sobbed she. “ He 
has — that is — I’m going to marry him when — when he 
get’s a better place. He said I mustn’t tell of it, for it 
would hurt him with the farmer.” 

“ Who is he ?” interrupted my aunt. 

“The Inspector, Wehrman, my lady.” 

“Were you with him yesterday in the park? — you 
could not be found there,” said my aunt. 

Nannie’s face brightened. “ Oh, my lady, we saw old 
JNlartin spying around, so we went into the green-house.” 

“ And did you hang a black garment in the window to 
air?” continued my aunt. 

The little maid looked puzzled. “ No, my lady, I hung 
nothing in the window, — but now I remember, Fräu- 
lein Carola had the frames carried to her room for that 
purpose.” 

“ One thing more, Nannie: did you meet any one in the 
park while you were out ?” 

“ I did not go wery far, my lady, and Martin and Fräu- 
lein Carola were the only ones I saw.” 

“ That is all,” said my aunt, — “ no, stay a moment. 
“ Do you know Zephyr was almost smothered by your 
carelessness ? You were in such haste to keep your ap- 
pointment that you locked him in your closet, and if your 
young mistress had not chanced to hear him he would 
have died.” 

Nannie’s blue eyes opened to their widest capacity. 
“ That cannot be, my lady,” she replied, with the most 
unfeigned astonishment. “Zephyr came running after 
me when I went out, and I carried him back and put him 
in the hall, — you see I could not have left him in my 
closet.” 

“ Certainly not, if that w^as so ; but since no one goes 
to your room but Fräulein Lora and yourself, and the dog 
could not have locked the door, you must be mistaken 
about it.” 


ELEONORE. 


83 


“ My lady doesn’t believe me!” sobbed Nannie again. 

Aunt looked at her searchingly. “ You may go now,” 
said she. “ But understand that I cannot allow this in- 
tercourse with the Inspector. You are both too young to 
think of marrying, and if I hear of your meeting him 
again in the green-house, or anywhere else, I shall send 
you back to your mother.” 

All was explained, therefore, except Zephyr’s misfor- 
tune, and in this I feared Nannie had not been quite truth- 
ful. Carola’s report completed the commonplace resolu- 
tion of Martin’s dark intrigue. She had seen the carriage, 
and it contained a lady and two gentlemen, — strangers, 
she presumed, for one of the gentlemen had inquired of 
her whether they could drive through the grounds. Not- 
withstanding this, however, I exercised a little added 
prudence in going out, while the old coachman followed 
me like a dog wherever I went At the same time he was 
more ill-natured and crusty than ever. Louisa declared 
no one could live in the house with him, and Nannie ran 
whenever she saw him coming. Soon after we heard of 
my father’s change of residence, my aunt wrote to him 
concerning Carola, but as yet no reply had been received, 
and the uncertainty of her remaining with us produced 
an uncomfortable restraint in our intercourse. The cool- 
ness made no difference in her conduct, however, — she 
appeared the same as ever, and continued to act as if she 
were the trusted friend of both my aunt and myself. 


YIII. 

Autumn was fast hastening upon us, and that subtle 
sympathy with nature’s melancholy, that soul-sadness 
stirred by her mute prophecies of our own decay and 
death, filled my soul. Why the swelling buds, the hope- 
ful leaves, the" perfect flower, if they must all perish ? 
Why life at all, when death stands close behind? Thus 
far I had no distinct realization of a Hereafter which 
mocks at change, of that life-crowned death through 


ELEONORE. 


.84 

whose darkened portals bursts the radiance of immor- 
tality. I had entered life, like so many others, with the 
chart of religion in hand, but the storms of this world 
were needed to show me its value, to tell me how to 
steer by it, and where to drop the anchor when the ship 
reeled. The solitude in which I Ijved made these days 
doubly dreary to me, and I used to lie some days for 
hours at a time upon the cushions in my “ dream-cham- 
ber,” listening to the rain as it beat against the windows 
and the mournful whistling of the wind around the corners 
of the house. 

Occasionally the storm-king would put forth all his 
strength, and then the trees in the park had to struggle 
for their lives. The old firs groaned in his grasp, the 
branches of the oaks were splintered and torn like paper, 
and the slender beeches bent under the weight of his 
cruel hand, while everything on the ground — leaves, 
twigs, and sometimes pieces of turf — went whirling 
through the air in wild carousal. With a fierce yell he 
would strike the walls of the castle, shake the shutters 
madly, prowl among the crooked windings for something 
upon which to wreak his fury, and at last, exhausted, sob 
forth a disappointed cry in the distance. I experienced a 
sort of grim pleasure in this jubilee of the powers of the 
air, but the blue sky was always welcome when it ended ; 
and I gladly left my solitary musings for the fresh air out- 
of-doors. 

It was the day after one of these severe tempests, and 
the returning sunshine had been for some time inviting 
me to its enjoyment, when Carola proposed that I should 
accompany her on a visit to one of her sick people who 
lived at the other end of the village. Lately she had 
become remarkably interested in my aunt?s charities, and 
was fast supplanting Louisa as almoner. There seemed 
no excuse for declining, since I had previously spoken of 
taking a walk, and, reluctant as I was to have her for a 
companion, I consented. Before we left the grounds I 
looked back to see if the ivy which grew over the castle- 
wall had been injured by the storm, and in so doing 
my eyes fell upon a white cloth fluttering in one of the 
windows. 


ELEONORE. 85 

Do you see that, Carola I asked. “ What does it 
mean 

She laughed. “A ghost, Lora 1 I should think, from 
your face. It is my dressing-sack, — I wet the sleeves in 
washing my hands, and hung it there to dry. Just see how 
its arms beckon to us, — perhaps we had better go back V' 

“ You seem in a very gay mood,’^ I answered, with 
1 some irritation ; “ which I regret to say I do not share. 
I In spite of the sunshine I feel strangely depressed.” 

“ That is the weather, my dear Lora. I often have 
such days ; let us go on, a rapid walk will be the best 
cure for such thoughts.” 

I now noticed for the first time that Zephyr was not 
{ with us, and proposed returning for him, but Carola ridi- 
j culed the idea so heartily that I gave it up. We left the 
park soon and turned into the meadow-path. It was 
here I first met Hugo Waldenstein, and the contrast be- 
tween that day and this struck me forcibly. But the 
change in the outer world from cheerful springtime to 
gloomy autumn was not greater than the one wrought 
within myself. I was as little the Eleonore Soltendorf of 
that morning as the scene before us was the gay, glad 
festival of May. 

“You are shivering, Lora: are you cold?” asked 
Carola, suddenly. 

“ Yes, slightly ; those clouds of mist hide the sun, and 
they are so weird and strange, — they remind me of ” 

“ Of the Erl-king ?” said she, with a smile ; “ you need 
not fear ; supernatural beings have no power over mortals 
by day.” 

“ Are we not almost there ?” I asked, anxiously ; “ I did 
not know it was so far.” We had left the meadow, and 
were in a place wholly unknown to me. 

“ Do you see that cottage at the edge of the woods ?” 
she returned. “There is where poor Kate lives.” 

“ Is she the forester’s wife ?” 

“ No, indeed 1 she is an old governess living in one 
miserable room. The house formerly belonged to the 
keeper, but when the forest was cleared up to it, he 
moved farther in.” 

“How came you to know all this, Carola?” 

8 


86 


ELEONORE. 


She laughed. “ I have always been accustomed to look 
after the poor, and I try to ascertain the circumstances 
of each, that my assistance may not be misapplied.” 

Before long we turned into a footpath which ran be- 
tween two fields and led to the garden back of the cottage. 
It was too narrow for us to walk side by side, and Carola 
fell behind. Suddenly her footsteps slackened, and look- 
ing around, I noticed she was very pale and scarcely able 
to stand. 

I do not feel well,” said she, with a faint smile, as I 
came up ‘to her. “ Perhaps the Erl-king is at work.” 

“ Sit down, — let me bring you some water,” I urged, 
frightened at the ashy pallor of her face. “ There must 
be a well here somewhere.” 

“ How good you are, Loral No, there is no well, — 
they get their water from a spring in the woods. But you 
may find some in Kate’s room, if you will go,” she added. 
The first door to the right : you cannot njjss it.” 

I stepped hurriedly across the garden and entered the 
house. Before me was a long hall with doors on each side. 
I obeyed my directions, and, opening the first one on the 
right, walked in. But it was vacant ; 1 must have misun- 
derstood Carola; and seeing another entrance leading out 
of this, I concluded the invalid was there. As I was about 
to raise the latch, I hesitated, — a horrible dread seized me, 
and only by a great effort did I gather courage to make 
the attempt. When at last the door swung open, nothing 
was visible but the blackest darkness, and the damp, 
musty air which rushed out almost suffocated me. Then, 
before 1 could speak or move, something stirred near me, 
a cloth was thrown over my head, and light and air were 
gone. I tried to scream, but the wrapping was so heavy 
that my voice died in my throat. 1 was lifted from the 
ground by a pair of strong arms, placed in a carriage, 
and driven rapidly away. At first terror completely 
paralyzed me ; still I did not lose my consciousness or 
presence of mind. Timid as I was by nature, now in the 
time of real danger a wonderful strength awoke within 
me. This act of my persecutor seemed so cowardly, so 
base, that contempt gradually took the place of fear. I 
could defy him even here, however, for if nothing else 


ELEONORE. 


87 


came to my rescue death should, — my own hands were 
strong enough for that. A perfect frenzy of passion seized 
me. The blood beat in my temples, and for the moment, 
weak girl that I was, I could have murdered the man 
without a shudder. We had not gone far before I felt the 
cloth loosen a little, my hands were free, and instantly I 
tore off the covering and looked around. I was in a close 
carriage, with thick, green curtains drawn tightly over 
the windows, — alone, I at first thought, but as my eyes 
turned to the seat near me, I caught Kö‘llner\s insolent 
gaze fixed upon my face. I shrank from him with a cry 
of horror, and at the same time took hold of the curtain to 
draw it aside. 

“ Don’t be rash, don’t try to escape, Lora !” said he, 
drawing away my hand. “ It will be death for us both.” 

“ Touch me if you dare I” I screamed. “ I will kill 
myself before you shall lay a finger on me.” 

He drew back a little and stared at me in amazement. 

“ Great God ! have I been deceived, Lora ? can it be 
that you do not love me ?” 

“ Love you !” I cried. “ I hate you, I abhor, I despii^e 
you, and I will kill you if you do not set me at liberty!” 

“ Death from your hand would not be the greatest evil 
that could happen to me,” he replied. “ Life without 
your love ” 

“Miserable hypocrite!” I retorted. “Now that you 
are sure of your victim, you dare not lift the mask, you 
dare not confess it is my fortune, not me, you seek, — you 
are as cowardly as you are treacherous.” 

My words did not irritate him in the least, and a pecu- 
liar smile passed over his features, as he replied, “ Ah, poor 
Lora ! you are shamefully deceived about your fortune ; 
if we get enough to live upon respectably, we may be 
thankful.” 

“ What do you mean ?” I asked, in a more quiet tone. 

Before he could reply, voices were heard behind us. 
My heart gave a sudden leap, and I shouted for help. 
The expression of Kollner’s face changed instantly, his 
eyes flashed, and, drawing a dagger from one of the car- 
riage-pockets, he hissed between his teeth, “Not a word, 
not a move, or you are dead !” 


88 


ELEONORE. 


I shuddered at the sight of the glistening weapon, and 
the fear of death, so madly braved a moment before, crept 
over my heart with a chill. Still, the hope of release, the 
approach of assistance, made me desperate, and, throwing 
up one arm to avert the blow, I thrust the other through 
the window and called again for help. Both hands were 
badly cut, but I did not mind the pain. The streaming 
blood filled me rather with a strange joy, — my life would 
ebb away in this crimson tide and I should be free. 

“ You have hurt yourself, Lora,’’ said my companion, 
anxiously. “ Do you, indeed, hate me so ?” 

“ You have no more power over me,” I cried, half- 
beside myself, — “death is my savior I” 

He turned pale, hesitated a ipoment, and then a look 
of firm resolve settled upon his features. 

“Enough!” said he, calmly. “You shall be free. What 
I have done was done through love; selfish, of course, 
but still love. Your hatred destroys all hope of future 
happiness, — I will relieve you of my presence.” And he 
gave a sign to the driver to stop. 

At the same instant a voice outside cried, “Halt !” 
And the general roared out in tones of thunder, “ Hold, 
you rascal! Couldn’t you hear, you d — d thief? I’ll 
open your ears for you in a way that you’ll not be 
troubled with deafness any more.” 

“ Here comes your true knight,” said Köllner, with a 
sneer. “ I presume you will find his society more agreeable 
than mine, — permit me to place you in the arms of your 
deliverer.” He sprang out, extended his hand, which I 
took mechanically, and lifted me from the carriage. 

“ Here is Fräulein Soltendorf, Herr General,” he con- 
tinued, — “ and allow me to add that your assistance in 
checking my horses was unnecessary. I had already 
given the order myself to the coachman.” 

The general seemed perfectly confounded by the man’s 
audacity. The veins of his forehead began to swell and 
his face grew fairly purple with rage. 

“ Villain !” he shouted. “ How dare you speak to me 
like an equal ? how dare you look honest people in the 
face ? Your hands are black with crime ; but we have 
you now, and the law ” 


ELEONORE. 


89 


“ Stop, stop, general I” interrupted Kollner. “ I am not 
your prisoner yet. You forget that the law would handle 
your protegee’s name rather freely ; besides, I should, of 
course, have to clear myself, and this might ” 

“ Do you mean to insinuate that this would throw a 
shadow upon Lora’s reputation ?” exclaimed the old man. 

“In the fullest sense, — ah, yes,” replied Kollner, coolly. 
And then, with the same polite composure, added, “But 
would it not be well to attend first to the young lady’s 
personal needs ? — you see she is bleeding badly.” 

“ Gracious heavens I the villain has tried to murder 
her!” cried the general, surveying my blood-stained gar- 
ments and white face with an air of the deepest concern. 

“It’s only her hands,” interposed Martin, whom I 
now observed standing close by with one of his horses. 
“If you’ve got a handkerchief — mine’s too coarse — you' 
might do ’em up.” 

The general took one from his pocket, tore it in two, 
and tremblingly bound up my wounds. Kollner, in the 
mean time, stood quietly regarding he scene, as if he 
were in no wise concerned in it, — in fact, this had been 
his manner during the entire interview. The general’s 
anger was somewhat cooled by his care for me, enough 
so to consider what course of action it was really best to 
pursue. He undoubtedly saw the truth of Kollner’s 
words, and recognized the fact that his arrest would in- 
volve my disgrace. 

“ You may thank Lora, who is the innocent sufferer in 
this affair, that you are permitted to go unpunished, Herr 
Kollner,” said he, at length ; “but do not imagine your 
threat concerning her reputation in any sense whatever 
has ” 

“ That depends upon circumstances,” replied the young 
man. “However, be that as it may, I am no traitor. If 
I have played a traitor’s part, it has been done in good 
faith, and,” he added, with evident emotion, “ I have 
been sufficiently punished.” 

“ I hope so, — I hope so indeed !” answered the general. 

“ This act must have extinguished the last spark of self- 
respect left to you.” 

“ You are mistaken, Herr General ; my self-respect has 
8 * 


90 


ELEONORE. 


gained by it, for it needed but one word ” he stopped 

suddenly. “I suppose Fräulein Lora would like to go 
home, — my carriage is at her disposal. 1 can easily walk 
to the village.” 

“ No, no 1 — not that!” I cried, shuddering. “I would 
rather go on foot.” 

“ Are you able to walk?” asked the general. 

“ Yes, only let us go quick. I want to get away from 
this place,” I entreated. 

He drew my hand through his arm, beckoned to Martin 
to follow, and then turned to bestow a farewell threat 
upon Kollner : “ If ever you show yourself about here 
again I will shoot you like a dog, as true as my name is 
Henry Rupert von Wording.” 

Kollner bowed as if he had received a most flattering 
compliment, and entered the carriage, which soon disap- 
peared over the hill. “Thank Heaven, he’s gone!” said 
General Wording. “ I wasn’t sure of myself as long as he 
was in sight. It was lucky for him that I hadn’t my 
pistols with me. Do you know, Lora, it was Martin who 
saved you. I had nothing to do with it except to come 
up and bluster after it was all planned, — hot-tempered 
old fellow that I am !” 

“ I though so,” said I, — “ I thought so.” 

“What?” asked the old gentleman, astonished at this 
ready acquiescence in his self-accusation. 

“ That Martin would come to my rescue,” I replied. 
“ I thought of him at once.” 

“ It seems to me, Herr General,” suggested the old coach- 
man, coming up just then, — “ it seems to me it’s too far for 
my young lady to walk, and if you’ll sit down on this 
stone I will go for that truck-wagon yonder, and we’ll 
put her ill” 

“ Good, Martin! get the truck-wagon for us, and then 
you go as fast as you can to prepare her aunt for our 
coming. I would not have your mistress see Fräuleiu 
Lora in this bloody dress for the world.” 

“No, Herr General, that I shall not do,” said Martin, 
decidedly. “ I’m not the one for it. Louisa can do it 
better, — and it’s little waiting-maids are good for except 
things of that sort. Besides, I’ve got Martin tied just 


ELEONORE. 


91 


here in the woods, and must ^o after him, — the poor 
fellow was lame, and had to be left behind.” 

The wagon, fortunately, belonged to the farmer, and the 
driver made no objection to carrying us to the castle. 
The general lifted me into it, sat" down himself on the 
straw by my side, and we jogged slowly homeward. 1 was 
so overcome by excitement and fatigue, that in spite of the 
jolting, I could scarcely keep my eyes open. 

“ I am so tired 1” 1 murmured, faintly. 

The old man drew me closer to him: “Well, well, my 
child, lean against me, and don’t try to keep awake. 
Nature is the best physician, and sleep the best medicine 
you can have.” 


IX. 

I DID not awake until we drew up before the house. 
Nannie was standing in the door, and clapped her hands 
merrily at the sight of our curious equipage ; but when 
the general took me down, and her eyes fell upon my 
bloody clothes and bandaged hands, she screamed and 
ran. The old gentleman started after her, and, notwith- 
standing his three hundred pounds, won the race. 

“ In the name of three devils, girl, hold your tongue !” 
said he, covering her mouth. “ Can your noise do any 
good ? Help me get your mistress into her room with- 
out alarming 1 he old lady. ” 

This speech deprived the poor child of what little sense 
she had left, and a flood of tears was the only response. 
The general stood aghast, hesitated a moment, and then 
produced w'hat he evidently considered a trump-card. 

“ There, child, you didn’t mean anything. I am no 
ogre come to devour you, that you need such a show^er- 
bath to soften me. Come, be good and help get Fräulein 
Lora to her room, — the next time I cornel will bring you 
a pretty silk kerchief, and a dress, too, if you want it. 
There, take hold gently; don’t touch the sore hand, — 
that’s it. J’ll take the other side ; now, forward, march !” 

We reached my room without meeting any one, where, 


92 


ELEONORE. 


after giving Nannie some further directions, my faithful 
old friend left me to acquaint my aunt with what had 
occurred. For some time 1 was almost unconscious of 
what went on around me. I struggled to control the 
chaos of thought which crowded upon my mind, but the 
memory of the last few hours fell like a black pall over 
every image which I could conjure up. Something lurked 
behind this, too, with its basilisk eye bent upon me, and 
I felt if the cloud were lifted, like the glance of Medusa, 
it would turn me into stone. 

In this bewilderment of head and heart, my abhorrence 
of Kollner vanished. What more was he than a giddy, 
thoughtless man, pursuing his own desires regardless of 
the happiness of his fellow-men ? Why should 1 consider 
him a special sinner above the rest of mankind? Was 
not the Gain-mark upon every forehead ? — only God’s 
mercy had made us so short-sighted that we could not 
see it at all times. Is it upon all ? Is nothing pure, 
nothing good? Does it merely depend upon the way in 
which the light falls, whether the seal of heaven or the 
brand of hell be revealed to us ? Is it only chance that 
we are good and noble, vicious and mean ? If so, if 
humanity is nothing but a foul morass betraying at every 
point him who is rash enough to trust it, what matter 
whether the flowers upon the surface be fair or ugly, sweet 
or bitter, the same poisonous juice permeates all ? Is it 
not childish, superficial, to condemn the individual when 
each but fulfills the law of nature? I had no upbraidings 
now for others, — their misdeeds were the reflection of 
my own possibilities. Even the murderer did not stand 
without the pale of sympathy, for the demon of my own 
soul was capable of his crime. The world seemed all out 

of joint. Edith Here the cloud grew darker, — 

again I tried to pierce its folds, but the sunshine slid be- 
tween and I lost sight of it. The memory of all the good 
which had lined mypathway, the love and care bestowed 
upon me, — this filled the whole horizon with light and 
splendor and genial warmth. I saw the eyes of my dead 
mother bent upon me with ineffable tenderness, my father’s 
great affection ; those friends with whom I had found a 
child’s place ; Alma’s smiling face j my aunt and her self- 


ELEONORE. 


93 


sacrificing devotion ; the general’s disinterested kindness; 
and last of all, old Martin watching over me so faithfully ; 
all these had given of their treasures, — richly given, and 
I had received the gifts carelessly, thanklessly, with no 
thought of the debt incurred thereby. That honest old 
coachman whom I had laughed at, ridiculed, consider- 
ing it almost beneath my dignity to ride behind him, — 
how far above me he was now ! What a preacher he 
had been to me of a great truth I Ah, in the soul alone 
is read the true verdict of the man ! 

My aunt soon entered the room and clasped me in her 
arms. Her face recalled my scattered thoughts. I shook 
off the lethargy which bound me, and, sinking on her 
breast, burst into tears. She let me weep, knowing the 
relief it would bring, silently pressed me to her again and 
again, and stroked my hair caressingly. 

“ Come, come, Fräulein Lora,” said the general, “ set 
a good example to your maid, — she must be almost dis- 
solved by this time. We will go down and have a spoon- 
ful or two of soup, with an extra glass of Madeira to 
refresh our spirits, and then at coffee you’ll come out as 
lively as a fish in the water.” 

“But Lora is hurt,” said my aunt; “and ” 

“ Not dangerously, — only a scratch. It is well to let 
the blood flow, — it may prevent a fever. Here, Louisa, 
bring your bandages, we will tie her hands up better, so 
that she can use them, and to-morrow or the day after 
she will be all right.” 

When Louisa returned with the linen. Zephyr was 
bounding by her side. He sprang into my arms, and ap- 
peared overjoyed to see me. “ Where were you. Zephyr ?” 
said I, fondling him. “You might have warned me if 
you had been at your post, naughty fellow !” 

“ The poor dog wasn’t to blame,” said Louisa. “ He 
was shut up in one of the guest-chambers. As I went 
by the door just now I heard him scratching, and let him 
out. I don’t see how he got into that room, for it’s always 
locked.” 

“ In the same way he got into my closet, most likely,” 
retorted Nannie. ^ 

There was a cheerful fire burning in the sitting-room, 


94 


ELEONORE. 


and the well-known objects there looked as novel and 
dear to me as if I had returned from a long journey. The 
general drew an easy-chair up before the grate and placed 
me in it, while aunt rang the bell and ordered John to 
send Martin to her immediately. “You must wait for 
your dinner a little while, dear friend,” said she. “ I can- 
not eat until I know who ” 

She hesitated, and the general nodded his head. “You 
will not have far to go, I fear,” he replied. “ That 
little water-spout of a maid ” 

“No, no!” I interrupted, quickly. “Nannie is inno- 
cent, I am sure. She did not know I was going out 
to-day.” 

“ Carola was with you ?” said my aunt. 

“ Yes.” And the silence that followed told what was 
in the mind of each. 

Presently Martin appeared, looking droller than ever. 
He had obeyed the order of his mistress to the letter and 
came in his stable-dress, the most striking features of 
which were a short, striped frock, and a brilliant, party- 
colored shawl. Nevertheless I felt like throwing my 
arms around the old fellow’s neck, and should have done 
so had I not been restrained by the fear that such an em- 
brace might be unwelcome to him. As it was, I extended 
both hands and exclaimed, heartily, “ Martin, dear Martin! 
I thank you a thousand, thousand times for all your care 
and assistance!” 

He made a queer sort of grimace. Pride, joy, affection, 
all contended for the mastery, and threatened to upset 
his equilibrium. But his old habit came to the rescue, 
and under the mask of ill humor he was himself again. 
“ My young lady makes too much of trifles. A coachman 
must have eyes to look right and, left, which he’d have 
no use for if his business was to wipe dishes. Well, 
whoever God has given eyes to. He means ’em to keep 
these eyes wide open, — that’s all I’ve done.” 

“ If I had listened to your advice, Martin, this terrible 
affair might not have happened,” said my aunt. “ But 
sit down, we have a great deal to say, and you will be 
tired with standing.” 

The old man looked at his mistress, as if to assure him- 


ELEONORE. 


95 


self that she did not intend this for an insult. “No, iny 
lady, I know, so far, what is due to my superiors. We 
coachmen, thank God, are not so flimsy that if we cough 
a bit or have any other ailment we get inside of the car- 
riage with our betiers; we stay with the horses in good 
Aveather or bad.” He glanced around the circle chal- 
lenging a contradiction of this statement, but no one 
seemed disposed to question it; so turning to the general 
with impressive solemnity, he added, “ Martin had a 
stone in his hoof this morning, Herr General.” 

“Indeed!” replied General Werding. “It is to be 
hoped nothing serious will result from it. But tell us, 
now, in what way you discovered this outrage upon 
Fräulein Lora.” 

“ By using my eyes, Herr General.” 

“ Certainly, certainly, my good fellow,” was the im- 
patient reply ; “ and we want to know what you gained 
by using them.” 

Martin took a few moments to collect his thoughts, 
stepped forward, and, clearing his throat, began, slowly : 
“ I obey my mistress in all things. If she tells me to 
drive to Brode, I drive to Brode, and if it’s to Klaschintz 
she wishes to go, I turn my horses that way ; but when 
my lady wouldn’t believe me about that silly Nannie and 
her plots with Baron Kollner ; when she told me to keep 
quiet and she’d see to ’em , — then I didn't obey her. I 
say it with respect. My lady is much too good. She 
hasn’t any suspicion of the tricks and lies the devil puts 
into such giddy heads through their love of fine clothes ; 
why, the thought of eternal blessedness wouldn’t balance 
a gay ribbon with ’em. So I watched her, and I guess 
the little minx knew it, for all at once she began to try 
her arts on me. She twisted her head as if she had St. 
Vitus’s dance, blinked her eyes at me, and hung around 
the stables as no modest young woman could do. But I 
saw what she was up to, and I wasn’t to be made a fool 
of in any such way as that.” Here he paused, consider- 
ing our capacity to receive what was coining, it may be. 
“ One day I told her out and out that in my time it used 
to be the" fashion for maids to sew and work, instead of 
running round doing nothing. She looked at me from 


96 


ELEONORE. 


head to foot, my lady, drew up her mouth and called me 
an old ass, — yes, an old ass, and told me I had better 
mind my own business.” 

Martin appeared to have forgotten his errand in the 
pursuit of his favorite theme, and the general began to 
grow impatient. “Nannie is thoughtless and frivolous, 
Martin,” interposed my aunt, “ we know that, but now 
repeat your adventure this morning.” 

He looked at his mistress reproachfully, nodded again 
once or twice, and continued : “ I kept a sharp eye upon 
the premises, and noticed whenever my young lady went 
out. Early this morning Nannie came sidling out of 
the house, and I thought she acted a little sly. She 
stood about the yard until my eyes were turned, and 
then darted into one of the barns where the men were 
threshing. I saw her whisper to one of them, and off he 
went at once as fast as his feet could carry him. This 
looked like something wrong. I had the horses out 
ready to lead to water; so I determined to follow him. 
First, however, I went to the house and gave a look 
through the park. Here I found that Fräulein Lora was 
out, — gone to see old Kate, Louisa said, and what was 
worse, in that same window where I’d seen the black 
cloth there was a white one. I was so scared my knees 
knocked together, and for a minute I didn’t know what 
to do. Then I jumped on my horse and galloped after 
that man. He was running as hard as he could go 
when I came up to him. It was Janko, the one my lady 
gave that little house and lot to near the farmer’s. He 
couldn’t be a traitor, and I grew a little easier; still, to 
be safe, I concluded to ride down to Kate’s myself. In 
the woods, a little ways from the house, stood a carriage, 
and it seemed to me as if I had seen it before. I rubbed 
my eyes, but there it was, the very same one that stopped 
at our gate. I should know those horses among a thou- 
sand. Well, the story was all told now; but I couldfi’t 
do anything alone, for there was the coachman, the 
Baron, and a thievish-looking servant besides. So I rode 
into the woods where they were felling trees. The Baron 
wouldn’t dare carry the Fräulein through the village, any 
child could see that, and I should be right in his path 


ELEONORE. 


97 


there. As I was going along pell-mell over sticks and 
stones, Martin, poor fellow, began to limp. Now I was 
in another pickle, but there was no time to lose. I tied him 
to a tree, and pushed on with Louisa. With the choppers 
I found the Herr General, who looked at me as if he 
thought I’d lost my senses when I told him what had 
happened. He came back with me, — you know the rest, 
my lady.” 

“You have on this occasion, as so many times before, 
proved your worth to me, my good Martin,” said my 
aunt, kindly. “ I thank you for what you have done, and 
frankly confess your penetration was greater than mine. 
We will sift the matter now thoroughly, and if there is a 
traitor among us, he or she shall find a reward. For 
yourself, if there is any wish in my power to gratify, let 
me know it, and do not be too modest in your demands.” 

“ There is something, my lady,” he replied, with more 
than ordinary promptness. “ If you mean what you say, 
I should like marble cribs for the horses. I’ve always 
been a little ashamed to see the Rhodener’s horses better 
cared for than ours, and the coachman there is so vain 
of his marble cribs that there’s -no getting along with 
him for anybody who thinks anything of themselves or 
their horses.” 

“ You shall have the cribs, certainly ; but now mention 
something for yourself,” returned my aunt. 

“ There is not anything special, my lady. But the 
cribs, — I should like them of dark marble, not white, and 
smooth inside instead of fluted. Louisa always licks her 
crib, and the wrinkles would hurt her tongue.” 

“You shall choose them yourself, Martin,” was the 
reply. “Now go to your dinner, and drink our health 
with the bottle of wine I have ordered for you.” 

“ A grand old fellow in spite of his rambling,” said 
the general, when he was gone. “We were not much 
enlightened by him, however.” 

“ A little, my friend,” said my aunt. “ He has proved 
Nannie innocent. Her visits to the stables were not, as 
Martin imagined, to blind him, but to see the Inspector, 
and I sent her to tell Janko that his wife had a little son.” 

“The old fellow’s spite against this girl appears to 
E 9. 


98 


ELEONORE. 


have been the leading motive with him,” said the gen- 
eral, laughing. 

“ Do not say that, — please do not say that I” I cried. 
“I do not want to lose my faith in Martin’s honesty.” 

The general regarded me seriously for a few moments, 
and then said, with an earnestness strikingly at variance 
with his usual manner, “ This is your first experience of 
the wickedness of mankind, my dear child, and it is only 
natural that you should be a little unsettled by it ; but 
you will learn, by-and-by, that the world is not wholly 
bad because there is l)ad in it, that it would cast no 
shadow upon Martin’s character if we did find the pure 
gold mingled with some dross. Imperfection is the law 
of this earth, and our souls cannot apprehend perfection 
any more than our eyes can bear the clear light of the 
sun. In the moral, as in the material world, the broken 
beams afford us most satisfaction.” 

His words did me good, although their full meaning 
was not appreciated until long afterwards. 

“ That white cloth troubles me,” said my aunt. “ Of 
course Nannie intended it for a signal to some one.” 

“Not Nannie, aunt,” I interrupted, eagerly. “ It was 
Carola’s dressing-sack, — she told me herself that she 
hung it in the window to dry.” 

“ Where is this Fräulein Carola?” asked the general. 

“ She has not yet returned from her walk,” replied 
my aunt. “Would to Heaven she never might return, 
Hor her complicity in this business appears beyond ques- 
tion ! Her whole conduct with reference to this miserable 
Kollner has been most extraordinary.” 

While we were cosily chatting over our coffee the lady 
appeared. 

“ You are here, then, Lora,” said she, fixing her eyes 
sharply upon me, — “quietly enjoying yourself, while I 
have been searching for you, half wild with anxiety ? I 
should think ordinary politeness would have prornpted 
you to inform me of your intention.” 

I returned the look without speaking. The many 
proofs of her co-operation with Kollner flashed through 
my mind; and yet, if she were guilty, how could she 
assume this injured air? 


ELEONORE. 


99 


“ How happens it that you remained so long, Carola 
asked my aunt, in a freezing tone. “ Our dinner-hour has 
passed.” 

Her sleepy eyes flew wide open, and the pointed teeth 
were set tightly together, — she was on the defensive 
instantly. “ Do you ask me that, my lady ? Was it 
strange that I should be unwilling to return without my 
1 companion, when I did not know what had become of 
her? I did not dream of her deserting me in this way.” 
' Aunt seemed little affected by this defiant bearing; 
but the general could not restrain himself any longer : 
“Before you accuse others, Fräulein, let us see how far 
you can answer the charges against yourself,” said he. 
“ How came it that the pretended chamber of the sick 
I woman was empty, and the one next to it darkened and 
[ filled with strange men ?” 

Carola’s lips curled disdainfully. She threw aside her 
hat and cloak, and without deigning a reply to this ques- 
; tion, addressed herself to my aunt: “There seems to 
[ be a singular mistake here, my lady ; I pray you explain 
\ W'hat has occurred, and how 1 am concerned in it.” 

“ A vile attempt upon Lora’s liberty has occurred,” 

: again interposed the general ; “ and you are suspected of 
abetting it.” 

Carola shrugged her shoulders. “ Since you are chief 
actor in this scene, Herr General, will you have the kind- 
' ness to relate the details of this domestic misfortune? 
! Thus far I am entirely in the dark.” 

“I can inform you in a few words, Fräulein. You 
I were in league with that villain Kollner against Lora’s 
r person and property. You planned that walk with her 
^ to-day to further the devilish undertaking, and advised 
your accomplice by hanging a white cloth in your win- 
I dow. You feigned sickness that she might enter the 
house alone where the robber surprised her, and then 
I gave him ample time to escape before you came to an- 
nounce her disappearance. If this is not enough, I can 
tell you of certain nocturnal visits from this same scoun- 
drel, and ” 

“ Stop, Herr General !” cried Carola. “ My self-respect 
I forbids me to listen to such language any longer. Let 


100 


ELEONORE. 


me remind you that I am a defenseless woman, and claim 
protection, by reason of my very helplessness, from every 
man of honor. Your charges are so absurd that I could 
laugh at them but for the intimation you give of some 
real danger to Lora.” 

The old gentleman sat down. He found the contest 
more severe than he imagined. This barricade of de- 
fenseless womanhood, behind which his opponent had 
entrenched herself, was beyond his skill, and he retired 
from the field. ‘‘ I resign my command to you, honored 
friend,” said he to my aunt. “I usurped it without au- 
thority, and retreat now before the enemy’s fire. May 
all ‘ defenseless women ’ be blessed with as glib tongues 
— I beg pardon — with as serene composure as Fräulein 
Carola !” 

“ The evidence is so strong against you, Fräulein Göt- 
tin,” began my aunt, ^ that we are morally certain of 
your participation in this crime. The plan could never 
have succeeded without your assistance. But a scandal, 
of course, is to be shunned, and it is for the interest of 
all parties that the matter be hushed up as quietly as 
possible. I have been persuaded, for some time, of your 
unfitness for the position you occupy, and have already 
written to Herr von Soltendorf with regard to it, but the 
events of to-day compel me to act without his decision. 
You will leave here early to-morrow morning. Pecuni- 
arily, this abrupt discharge shall be no loss to you, and 
I will place no obstacle in your way hereafter. We will 
drop this subject now forever, since no protestations on 
your part can affect my determination, and discussion 
will be only irritating.” 

I watched Carola closely while my aunt was speaking. 
Some of the time her gaze was riveted intently upon 
the speaker ; then the long eyelashes would droop, and 
I could see the flashes of anger kindle beneath, while 
her pearly teeth gleamed so savagely that I almost shud- 
dered when she opened her mouth. 

“ Respect for your age, as well as regard for the rela- 
tion I sustain to you in this house, has prevented me 
from interrupting you, my lady,” said she, when my aunt 
concluded. “ I say this, that my silence may not be 


ELEONORE. 


101 


construed against me. It would, of course, be very easy 
to rid yourself of a person obnoxious to you, by charging 
I her with a crime, and then forbidding a defense; but 
there is protection for the innocent, and to that 1 shall 
appeal. The law, which you think to evade, shall judge 
between us. You will have to repeat these charges 
against me in open court, and there my vindication will 
be heard. I shall not leave your house to-morrow, nor 
after that until I am exculpated from all blame ; then I 
will go gladly from a place where I have experienced 
only suffering and degradation.” 

“ I have no objection to listening to your defense,” re- 
turned my aunt, calmly. “ Will you explain how it was 
that old Kate’s room was empty ?” 

“ Empty I What do you mean ? I sat with her myself 
over an hour waiting for Lora.” 

“ Then you told Lora the wrong door when you said 
the first one on the right.” 

“ That is a mistake. I said the first door on the left,” 
replied Carola. 

“ No ; it was the right , I interposed, reluctantly. 

“ You are wrong, dear Lora,” she replied ; adding, with 
an insidious smile, “ you know you are often confused 
about right and left.” 

“ Yes, as to the direction, but never with regard to the 
words. I could swear you told me to turn to the right.” 

“ Then I woulij take my oath to the contrary.” 

“ This contradiction is useless, Fräulein,” resumed my 
aunt. “ We can exercise our own discretion as to which 
statement deserves credence. Can you tell me why it 
was that a house containing so many people happened to 
be entirely empty when Lora entered it, so that no one 
heard her screams ?” 

“ Now that I think of it, I believe there was no one at 
home but Kate. Some of them were in the field at work, 
and the rest had gone to the city for their weekly mar- 
keting.” 

. “And old Kate is as deaf as a post, — that was well 
arranged I” said the general. 

“ 1 do not know how long I remained where Lora left 
me. She did not come with the water, and at last I 

9 * 


102 


ELEONORE. 


fainted. On recovering my consciousness I was startled 
to see by the shadows how long the swoon had lasted. 
I expected to find Lora with Kate, and was greatly sur- 
prised when I learned she had not been there. Then I 
concluded she had gone to the spring, and waited for her 
a long time.” 

“ Without consulting the shadows,” again interrupted 
the general. 

She took no notice of these remarks, but proceeded, 
undisturbed, — “ As soon as I felt strong enough I went 
to look for her, fearing she had lost her way.” 

“ Which was quite probable, as she didn’t know where 
the spring was, and had only inspiration to guide her,” 
persisted the general. 

“ Not finding her by the spring,” continued Carola, “I 
became very much alarmed, and searched everywhere 
through the woods, calling her name and seeking some 
clue to the direction she had taken.” 

“ You see, dear friend, how well the story hangs to- 
gether,” said the general. “ Lora vanishes m^^steriously, 
and Fräulein Carola, with the fixed idea that she has 
gone to a spring, which she knew nothing about, wanders 
for hours in the woods without meeting a human being, 
or calling upon one for assistance, — such friendship is 
truly remarkable.” 

“ Your sarcasm. General Werding, cannot affect these 
simple facts. I may not have acted wisely, but I did the 
best I could ; and the terrible hours I spent in those 
woods will haunt me forever.” 

“ How did Herr von Kollner know of this visit to old 
Kate? — you proposed the walk, I believe,” said my aunt. 

“ Why do you ask me, my lady ? All I know is that 
he did not hear of it through me. The Baron may have 
some spy in his service, — Nannie and Louisa both knew 
where we went, — perhaps Martin is ” 

“ That will do,” interposed aunt, sternly. “ Your story 
is so improbable that you can hardly expect us to believe 
it. I repeat what I said in the beginning, — you will leavq 
to morrow. As to the law, you can get as you .see fit. I 
shall certainly not take the initiative in that direction.” 

“ I most humbly beg your pardon, my lady,” said 


ELEONORE. 


103 


I Carola, with a low bow, “but I am obliged to crave your 
; hospitality for a few days. Necessity compels me to this. 

I You have told me in plain words that you hold me guilty 
j of a crime, and, as my good name is all I have, I shall 
j not tamely resign it. Notice ” 

Aunt ordered her to be silent, while the general, whose 
I face had passed through every shade from white to deep 
j ])urple, seemed ready to burst with anger. To my own 
! mind the secret of Carola’s conduct stood suddenly re- 
vealed. I held the thread which bound together so many 
i of her inexplicable deeds. 

! “ Waste no more words upon this woman, annt !” I 

I exclaimed, starting from my seat. “ It is my disgrace she 
intends. I see it all now. Kollner sent for her when he 
found his own arts powerless. She knew him, — I saw it 
i in her eyes when they first met at the Wiudhems. He 
i has had a good tool, and her strange interest in him is no 
longer a mystery. She planned his visits to the park, 
and then artfully represented my imprudence as the oc- 
casion of them. In her attentions to the poor, she sought 
an opportunity to deliver me into his power ; and now 
that the plot has failed, she does not shrink from her own 
disgrace, provided mine be coupled with it. It is her 
work, — she has done it all, — covered my name with dis- 
honor, and driven a bad man to deeper infamy.” 

I spoke wildly. My whole being was in a tumult of 
passion, which, like a rushing torrent, broke over all re- 
straint, and yet I never thought more clearly, or felt surer 
of my ground. At first, Carola seemed stunned by this 
attack, — dismayed like one who sees some harmless ani- 
mal spring savagely at his throat, — but her features soon 
settled into a marble rigidity, and she fixed her eyes upon 
mine with a look which fascinated, subdued, almost petri- 
fied me. 

“ I see, my lady, that this subject cannot be con- 
* tinued without danger to Lora’s health or reason,” she 
rejoined, in a soft voice. “ Her accusations against me I 
attribute entirely to excitement, — she is not herself now. 
It is very humifiating to be obliged to request a hospi- 
tality grudgingly bestowed, but I shall relieve you of my 
presence at the earliest moment. I will inform Herr von 


104 


ELEONORE. 


Soltendorf and his wife of what has occurred without 
delay. They are my employers, and to them alone I am 
accountable. You will do the same, I suppose, my lady; 
and to their decision, whatever it be, I submit.” Saying 
which she bowed obsequiously and withdrew. 

Before the door had fairly closed behind her, a sharp pain 
seized me in my left side, and I sank back lifeless in a 
chair. When I came to myself I was in bed, and my 
aunt and the physician with me. “Undoubtedly this 
has been brought on by excitement,” I heard the latter 
say. “ There is no immediate danger, but she must 
have the most perfect quiet of body and mind. You will 
take care, my lady, that she sees no one but her attendants, 
talks little, and hears nothing that will agitate her, — we 
will hope to avert any troublesome consequences.” 

I felt so strongly the need of the rest thus enjoined, 
that for days 1 had no inclination to leave my bed, or 
even lift my head from the pillows. From morning till 
night I lay in a state of blissful passiveness, and the rain 
rattled against the shutters and the hollow autumn winds 
still wafted their mournful dirge over the grave of nature’s 
loveliness. From my window I could see the trees grow 
barer with each fresh blast, and the landscape gradually 
lose its brilliant coloring, but the sight brought no sad- 
ness to my soul now. 1 found comfort rather in the 
picture of change which the outer world presented. Why 
lay upon ourselves heavy burdens because the clouds hang 
thick to-day, when, in the morning, perhaps, the sky will 
be clear ? And if it is not, if all our days form but one 
unbroken chain of affliction and suffering, death will end 
it, — end it as certainly as if its links were each a circlet 
of purest happiness. 

When the rain ceased, I used to watch ‘the wind sport- 
ing with the clouds, tearing them ruthlessly asunder, 
chasing them in wild flight through the air, and then 
piling them upon each other again until they grew black 
with rage against their master, — but it was only play, 
and heaven’s blue was still in its place. So half-awake 
and half-asleep, half-thinking and half-dreaming, 1 lost 
most of the hours, until my strength physically and 
mentally revived, and I came back again to health and 


ELEONORE. 


105 


cheerfulness. Nannie clapped her hands with delight 
one morning when she heard me laugh, and ran down- 
stairs, exclaiming, “ Fräulein Lora is well ! Fräulein 
Lora is well.” 

\es, thank God, I was well, well in body and soul, 
strong enough to bear the blow that even then hung over 
me ; bear it, too, so that it became to me a blessing and 
not a curse. 


X. 

During my illness I had not heard Carola’s name 
mentioned, and one of my first questions on recovering 
was concerning her. It seems that instead of making 
preparations to leave the next morning, she came to my 
aunt and with tears in her eyes begged for permission to 
remain. Her abrupt departure, she urged, following so 
closely upon Kollner’s outrage, would arouse suspicion 
against her, even if we were silent as to the cause, since, 
of course, it would be impossible to keep the whole 
matter secret. Seeing she was determined to stay at all 
hazards, my aunt consented, with the understanding, 
however, that the engagement under which she entered 
the family was dissolved, and that her intercourse with 
it should be limited exclusively to meals. To this she 
agreed cheerfully, thanked my aunt for her kindness, and 
thus far had walked strictly in the path marked out for 
her. Whatever faults she might possess, lack of discre- 
tion was certainly not one of them. She spent most of 
her time in her room, or when the weather permitted, in 
looking after my aunt’s pensioners among the sick and 
poor. At table she exerted herself unusually to entertain 
“ my lady,” but always found some excuse for being ab- 
sent when General Werding was a guest, as she seemed 
to consider him her implacable enemy. Between her 
and Martin, too, a deadly feud had arisen, — she would 
have nothing to do with the old coachman, and he looked 
daggers if he saw her half a mile away. 

E* 


106 


ELEONORE. 


The whole neighborhood soon learned of my misfortune, 
and indignation against Kollner was universal. He had 
won so little confidence among the people that not an 
apologist apppeared in his favor, while for a few days 
the castle was literally besieged by visitors, who came to 
tender their sympathy to my aunt and me. Even Felix 
Windhem so far overcame his bashfulness as to accom- 
pany his mother a«d sisters on their errand of condolence, 
— the first time, my aunt thought, he had ever been within 
the gate. Willibald Miiller came, too, with his father, 
bringing a sweet message from the dear old mamma, who 
was sick in bed. But no one. appeared so deeply con- 
cerned as Hugo Waldenstein. He had been repeatedly 
to inquire after my health, and urged my aunt to use 
the most extreme measures rather than suffer Carola’s 
baleful presence in the house. 

In the course of a few days the long-expected letters from 
the capital arrived, and among them one for me in my 
mother’s handwriting. I held it for some time before I 
could gather courage to break the seal. How these letters 
had once delighted me, intoxicating my senses with their 
perfume and exciting me to beautiful visions of the writer! 
Now, I drew back involuntarily to escape the heavy odor, 
and held it as far away as possible while I read : 

“My dear Ella, my sweet child, what have I heard I 
What a frightful escape you have had I So young, and yet 
to learn the evil that is in men’s hearts; to be taught so 
cruelly the necessity of worldly prudence 1 I regret now 
deeply that I yielded to your father, that I did not imperil 
my own domestic peace rather than intrust you to the care 
of an old woman, who, I see now, is by no means the 
one to guide and counsel a young girl. But, my precious 
child, do not blame me, I believed you in safe hands; and 
besides (smile if you will at the extravagant pride of a 
mother), I placed you so far above all other girls of your 
age, that I felt nothing impure would dare to approach you. 

“ It is my fault, not yours, that it has been otherwise ; 
that in your thoughtlessness you have favored the ad- 
dresses of one whose selfish motives your pure, childlike 
spirit could not divine, that you have been flattered by 


ELEONORE. 


10t 


the attentions of a raan whose attractive person blinded 
you to the rottenness within. Yes, my angel child, it is I, 
the wicked stepmother, who must bear the blame of this 
dark experience of your youth, this stain upon your repu- 
tation ; I ought to have followed my own heart in spite of 
\’'our father’s reasons. But I will atone for it all, — no 
one but your mother shall henceforth watch over you. 
I will blot out this unfortunate episode of your life, and 
prove to the world that my little Ella did not wantonly 
seek her own ruin. How happy 1 am in the thought 
of holding you soon in my embrace and having you 
always with me ! I am almost grateful to the monster, 
tlirough whose base act my dearest wish is to be attained. 
Do not fear, my sweet one ; here no one will dare reproach 
3 ^ou with the past, and only respect, love, and adoration 
shall surround 3 "Ou. You will be the centre of our circle, 
and the heart’s darling of 

“ Your loving Mother.” 

It was her old style of expression, exaggerated, flat- 
tering, aflectionate I once thought, but the tender words 
had lost their power over me. Thev were mere ghosts, 
frightfully like life, but shadowy and unreal. Besides, in 
these lines something lay behind the sweetness. What 
did those insinuations mean with regard to my character ? 
Was Edith’s protection necessary when I met the world ? 
What had I done to tremble before it, to bring that stain 
upon my reputation which she was going to blot out ? 

1 was so absorbed in these unwelcome questionings 
that I did not hear my aunt enter the room, and started 
when she spoke my name. 

Your letter, like mine, seems to have brought nothing 
pleasant,” said she, laying her hand upon my shoulder. 
“ Let us exchange them, and then we can consider a re- 
plN^ You need not hesitate, I am already aware that 
Edith considers me a superannuated old woman, incapa- 
ble of guarding the treasure committed to my care.” 

The contents of the sheet she handed me differed little 
from the one I h'ad just read. There was the same lam- 
entation over the dreadful news received, the same self- 
reproach mingled with complaints of my aunt’s inca- 


108 


ELEONORE. 


pacity, the same allusions to my probable indiscretion 
and blasted reputation, and the same magnanimous as- 
surances that under my parents’ care I should again be 
established in the world’s esteem. My removal from 
Rutwitz was also formally announced. 

Concerning Carola, Edith wrote as follows: “I have 
not forgotten Fräulein Göttin whom you mention so un- 
favorably, and against whom you entertain such extraor- 
dinary, and, as it appears to me, ill-grounded suspicions. 
I am well acquainted with the family, and know them to 
be faithful, honest people. I presume the excitement 
into which you must have been thrown by this melan- 
choly affair has distorted some of the circumstances con- 
nected with it, and led you to a false conclusion. I agree 
with you that an appeal to the law would be unwise, 
although Carola’s willingness to make such an appeal 
seems to me a sure sign of her innocence. I will place 
the matter before my husband when Ella comes, and his 
penetration and experience wilj, no doubt, enable us to reach 
the truth. In the mean time she will act as traveling 
companion to our daughter, since a country waiting-maid 
would be out of place here, and far happier where she is.” 

To this were appended a few lines from my father, 
apologizing to my aunt for imposing upon her such a 
burden and care as I had proved, and confirming his 
wife’s decision with regard to my future. 

There was no word of sympathy or affection for me: 
only disappointment and displeasure. Edith might re- 
joice at her success. She had systematically set about 
weaning his heart from me, and, as it seemed, her pur- 
pose was accomplished. It became my duty now to win 
back, if possible, the love I had lost, and to stay the hand 
of this treacherous woman in so sacrilegious a work. I 
did not consider at the time how little capable I was of 
the undertaking ; indignation at the wrong I had suffered 
made me over-estimate my strength. 

“ Control your feelings, my dear Lora, and let us con- 
sult as to the course we shall pursue,” said my aunt, with 
a sigh. “Your father’s command is not to be disobeyed, 
and yet your leaving Rutwitz at this time is very unfortu- 
nate. Every one here feels, now, that there is not a 


ELEONORE. 


109 


shadow of blame resting upon you ; but if you go away 
without seeing these people, and thanking them for their 
interest, the inference is possible that a consciousness 
of guilt made you afraid to meet them.’’ 

I had not thought of this before, but its truth struck 
me at once. At the same time, I felt sure that it had 
not escaped Edith’s observation, but that her plans in- 
cluded it rather. Persons by nature simple-hearted and 
trusting, when they find themselves betrayed are gen- 
erally driven far to the other extreme, and such was the 
case with me. I could have believed anything of Edith 
and Carola, that seemed to further their malicious intents. 

“We must find some excuse,” said I, after a little re- 
flection. “ As you say, I cannot disobey my father, nor 
can I leave here immediately. You had better write to 
him, dear aunt, explaining this point, and asking for a 
delay of a few weeks. But do not send the letter for 
some time. I expect — yes, I know, your request will be 
refused ; still, we can gain the time we want in that way.” 

“What makes you think that, Lora? — he surely will 
not disregard these reasons.” 

“ Because not my father, but Edith will answer the 
letter,” I replied ; “ and this has all been taken into ac- 
count by her, and is her strongest motive for my re- 
moval.” 

“Lora!” cried my aunt, in a tone of reproachful sur- 
prise. 

“ Yes, aunt, I see I You think these suspicions as 
unreasonable as my former infatuation, but you are mis- 
taken. Would Edith have reserved to herself the privi- 
lege of providing me with a companion when she was 
away in Florence, if she had not had some plan which 
could only be carried out through an accomplice ” 

“ Hush, Lora 1” said she, sternly. “ I trust you do 
not yourself fully comprehend the import of what you 
say, — it makes me shudder.” 

1 pressed my face against the window and gazed up at 
the cloud-draped sky. That horrible something had taken 
shape. Kollner’s stray words, Carola’s conduct, Edith’s 
intentions, — all formed a straight chain wherein no link 
was wanting. Singular enough, however, while the faint 

10 


110 


ELEONORE. 


suspicion of this had rendered me almost powerless, the 
certainty developed a vigor and decision of character to 
which I had hitherto been a stranger. 

“ I have thought of it all, dear aunt, and can prove 
what I say,” I replied, after a short silence. “ Kollner 
was persuaded to his act of violence, deceived, and made 
to believe that I loved him. Who could have done this 
but Carola, and who but an accomplice of hers would pass 
over thus slightly the evidence of her guilty partnership 
with him 

“ Child, child !” exclaimed the dear old lady, in a trem- 
bling voice, “this has wrought more evil than I feared. 
IIow is it that the pure child-nature of my Lora enter- 
tains such thoughts of any one, especially of her whom 
she has so enthusiastically loved and admired ? May God 
restore you to your right mind speedily, and give you 
a clearer vision, so that you may not see monsters and 
fiends where there is only an imperfect, erring humanity I 
I have made no secret of my sentiments towards Edith. 
I never liked her before her marriage, and she has given 
me no cause to change since. Her professed affection for 
you has appeared to me all along too ardent to be sincere, 
and I was persuaded that she sent you to me to get you 
out of her way ; but from this negative indifference to 
intriguing hate there is, thank Heaven, an awful step I” 

“ Hate I” I exclaimed, — “not hate, aunt, but selfishness. 
If my father to-day were to make her the heiress of my 
mother’s property, she would leave me unmolested. I do 
not mean to say she intended to commit any crime. She 
knew Kollner in Florence, I presume, and imagined that 
a man of such captivating manners and person could easily 
win the heart of an inexperienced young girl. I was to 
be entrapped into a hasty marriage, and so disowned by 
my father. Fortunately my weak-minded aunt, and her 
equally imbecile friend, General Werding, saved me from 
voluntary disgrace, and afterwards this abduction was 
planned.” 

“ My child, you frighten me !” she replied ; and then 
added, with a painful smile, “ This generation must be 

f reatly in advance of the past, or a head scarcely eighteen 
ears old could not conceive such things. But we will 


ELEONORE. 


Ill 


not talk about them. I shall write to your father in a 
day or two, and in the mean time we will see as many 
of our friends as we can.” 

Conformable to this resolution vve began a round of 
visiting in the neighborhood, and everywhere the most 
cordial assurances of regard were extended to me. Some- 
times a significant smile followed the announcement of 
my intended departure, as if the recall came at my own 
instigation ; still, I was persuaded that, as a general thing, 
nothing unfavorable to me would be inferred from this 
sudden change of residence, and there was not even a 
hint of any fault on my part in connection with Ko’llner. 
Nannie had already informed me that Inspector Wehrman, 
whom she had accidentally (?) met, declared there was 
but one opinion in the aristocratic circles of peasants and 
millers in the village, and that the schoolmaster unhesi- 
tatingly pronounced me the victim of a foul conspiracy 
between “ that rascally Baron” and Carola. Six months 
before I should have deemed it absurd to care for the esti- 
mate which these country-people might place upon my 
actions; but now their favorable judgment was a great 
comfort to me. Misfortune had taught me that we are 
all, high and low, rich and poor, members of the great 
human family, dependent upon each other for support and 
assistance, and sustaining mutual obligations each to all. 
What could I do in return for the sympathy and kindness 
I had received from my humble friends? Money could 
not discharge ühe debt of gratitude, for it was not mine 
to give, — it came to me through others, and involved no 
personal sacrifice on my part. Following this suggestion, 
my pride was shocked at the discovery that I lived en- 
tirely through the exertions of others. I, who had alw'ays 
felt myself considerably superior to the common herd of 
mankmd, must look to them for the bare necessaries of 
life. How many hands were wearied in procuring bread 
for my breakfast I How much labor it had cost to fill my 
cup with its refreshing draught of tea or colfee! What 
busy days and sleepless nights had been spent upon my 
clothes "and other things, which made existence merely 
tolerable to me I And all these benefactions I had taken 
as my right, appropriating them without acknowledgment, 


112 


ELEONORE, 


and enjoying them without a realization of their cost. 
True, the root of this grandly branching tree of human 
industry is not philanthropy, but necessity ; still, he who 
plucks the fruit of it without lending a helping hand to 
its culture, takes what is not his own, and cuts himself 
off from the great brotherhood of man. The chance pos- 
session of wealth does not exempt a man from a share in 
the world’s workshop, nor can the fictitious worth of 
money be counted an equivalent for its products. If my 
hands are too delicate, my body too weak to take a place 
actually among the laborers, then mind and heart must 
stand in their stead and serve those who do my part for 
me, helping them as they stumble through want and 
care, when temptation threatens shipwreck of body and 
soul. My word of consolation may be precious balsam 
to the sorrowing, my encouragement may cheer the de- 
spairing, my admonition steady the wavering, and my 
example turn the feet of the erring into a straight path. 
This is work which will bring me abreast with the most 
diligent and place innumerable favors to my credit. 

On this account I should regret leaving my present 
home. Here I was known and bound to all, whatever 
their condition, by a natural tie. “The Fräulein from 
the castle” was as welcome in the stately farm-house as 
in the poorest hut, her words were listened to with re- 
spect, and her help thankfully received. But what could 
I do in a large city ? I should be in danger of drying 
spurious tears and alleviating feigned distress. Was not 
this of itself enough to warrant resistance to my father’s 
will ? What a game of hide-and-go-seek we play with 
ourselves sometimes in thus covering up an unpleasant 
duty with the mask of virtue ! 

The first day of our visiting Carola bore with indiffer- 
ence ; the second she looked black, and on the third asked 
my aunt when we were to begin the preparations for our 
journey. 

“ I will give you due notice, Fräulein Carola,” was the 
reply. “ The day is not fixed yet.” 

She looked annoyed, but ventured no remonstrance. 
There was something in my aunt’s tone which forbade 
that ; but when day after day passed and nothing was 


ELEONORE. • 


113 


done, not even a letter sent, she became uneasy, and, 
entering my room one morning (a thing that had not 
happened before for weeks), said, rather impatiently, 
“ Pardon the intrusion, Fräulein Lora, but I must ask au 
explanation. An order has come to me from your mother 
to leave with you for the capital in a day or two, and I 
am astonished, and I must say, a good deal disturbed, to 
find your parents’ wishes so little respected.” 

“ I do not see why you need be troubled about it, 
Carola,” I replied. “ You have nothing to do beyond 
getting yourself ready, and the responsibility of delay 
does not fall upon you.” 

“ Am I to understand by this that you do not intend 
to go at all ?” she asked, showing her teeth. 

“I simply intend to follow my aunt’s advice and obey 
her commands as long as I am an inmate of her house.” 

“ Yery well; then there is nothing left for me but to 
write to your mother, telling her I cannot obey her orders 
since you insist upon remaining here.” And she turned to 
leave the room. 

“ You will do nothing of the kind,” I exclaimed, fol- 
lowing^ her. “ Your mediation is not wanted. I will 
account to my mother myself for what I do.” And then, 
irritated by the scornful curl of her lip, I added, “Take 
care, Carola, or you will expose the real mission of ‘ my 
companion.’” 

I spoke hastily, and was sorry the next moment for 
what I had said ; but the disagreeable discussion which I 
feared the remark might provoke did not follow. She 
merely shrugged her shoulders, gave me a sharp look 
from under her eyelashes, and withdrew. A short time 
after I had another interview with the young lady, this 
time in Nannie’s behalf. In spite of Edith’s directions, 
I had determined to take my little maid with me, but the 
arrangement was carefully kept secret from Carola, and 
only by accident did she discover my intention. Nannie 
in the glory of a new dress was one day turning hersölf 
around in the hall for John’s admiration, when Carola 
unexpectedly came out of her room. 

“ I suppose that is your-wedding dress, Nannie ?” said 
she, approaching them. 

10 ^* 


114 


ELEONORE. 


“ Respectable girls do not wear dresses of this sort to 
be married in,” retorted Nannie. “It’s my traveling- 
dress.” 

“ Your traveling-dress ! Where are you going, pray?” 

“With my mistress to the capital,” said Nannie, em- 
phatically. 

“ Poor girl ! you have had your trouble for nothing. 
Country waiting-maids are not wanted in the city, — we 
leave them where they belong.” 

“ Nannie’s eyes sparkled with anger ; “ It’s nothing to 
me what Fräulein Carola thinks, — I am not in her service. 
If my mistress likes me and chooses to take me with her, 
I don’t care that for a hundred Fräulein Carolas” — and 
she snapped her fingers to denote the degree of estimation. 

Carola seemed amused, and yet there was a touch of 
defiance in her tone as she replied, “ You are quite safe 
with a hundred Carolas ; but I, the one, tell you you are 
greatly mistaken if you think you are going on this 
journey.” 

I had overheard this conversation and thought it time 
now for me to interfere. 

“ Of course Nannie is going with me,” said I. “ What 
does it all mean ?” 

“ I think your kindness is ill-judged in this case, Lora,” 
replied Carola, after a pause. 

“ That is entirely my own business. I have told you 
once before that the responsibility of my actions rested 
upon myself alone.” 

“ And I have reminded you once before that you are 
violating your mother’s commands. It is the express 
wish of Frau von Soltendorf that all your rustic associa- 
tions be left behind. I am commissioned to deliver you 
into her charge.” 

My blood boiled. She had received her instructions 
from Edith then, and I was to be separated from those 
devoted to my interests, probably that a spy might be 
forced upon me in the person of a maid ; but I had been 
too thoroughly schooled in self-control to show any alarm 
at this intimation. 

“ You have succeeded so well in worming yourself into 
my mother’s confidence that her willingness to intrust me 


ELEONORE. 


115 


to your exclusive care is quite natural, I know you 
better, however, and shall take Nannie as a protection.’’ 

“ You decide to do what your mother has forbidden, 
then ?” 

“ Authority is out of the question here,” I replied. “ I 
am no longer a child, — it is enough to have a companion 
thrust upon me against my will. I shall exercise my 
own judgment with reference to my maid.” 

I must have been very angry or I could not have an- 
swered her thus rudely. She appeared surprised, and 
stared at me, as if not quite comprehending what I had 
said. 

“Your amiability is most remarkable!” she returned, 
shortly. “ What a pity you must leave your country 
residence, — it has done so much for you in that direction I 
I am inexorable, however, and still insist that Nannie 
shall be left behind.” 

“ You insist I repeated, aghast at her impudence. 

“Yes, as your mother’s representative, I insist upon it.” 

“ As my 7no(her'’s representative said I, mechani- 
cally ; then straightening myself up, I looked her steadily 
in the face. “ Carola, suspicion is a skillful operator 
upon eyes which faith has closed, — remember this, and 
do not reckon too confidently upon my blindness.” 

The same expression that had settled upon her features 
when I accused lier of an alliance with Kollner returned. 
It was fear and astonishment mingled with a sort of 
forced admiration, as if she were compelled to acknowledge 
in me an equal foe. She did not speak for a few moments, 
and then her tone and manner were entirely changed. 

“You are right, Lora. I have taken too much upon 
myself, but I have suffered, — no one knows how deeply ! 
— and it is not strange that I should regard the wishes 
of her who still trusts me as paramount to all others. 
You know how anxious your mother is for your welfare, 
and she thought it advisable that your connection with 
this place should be severed entirely. She has engaged 
an excellent maid for you in the city, — I ought to have 
stated her reasons, and then your judgment would have 
coincided with hers.” 

“You are mistaken there, Carola. If my mother’s 


116 


ELEONORE. 


wish was based upon Nannie’s unfitness for the place, 
when she sees her she will be satisfied, — and the new 
maid can be dismissed. At all events, Nannie goes.” 

1 went back to my room, and, throwing myself on the 
sofa, burst into tears. My independence and courage sud- 
denly vanished, and the fearful certainty that Carola was 
merely Edith’s hireling, fell like a weight upon my heart. 

When 1 could speak, I laid my hand upon Nannie’s 
shoulder and solemnly bade her look at me. “ Nannie,” 
said I, “ will you stay with me until I send you away ? 
Will you always be faithful to me, never do what you 
know 1 would not like, and obey me, whatever I may 
tell you ?” • 

“ Yes, Fräulein Lora,” she sobbed. “ I will do every- 
thing — except — you will not tell me — you don’t want me to 
give up the Inspector, do you ? — I will do anything else.” 

“No, Nannie, 1 shall never tell you to do that,” I re- 
plied, assuringly ; and the double promise made us both 
happier 

In the course of a few days another letter came from 
Edith, demanding in no very gentle terms the reason of 
my delay. This, of course, my aunt was compelled to 
answer, and she did so in a most conciliatory spirit, ex- 
plaining the circumstances which seemed to detain me at 
Rutwitz, and adding, that if no other arrangement was 
preferred, I would leave the next week. The short time 
thus left to me I employed in taking leave of all the places 
in which I had had any special interest. Even the old 
house by the forest was not passed by. I went there 
once more and listened patiently to Kate’s wandering 
story, how frightened she was when she heard what had 
happened that day, what she did and what she did not 
do, what she thought and what she did not think. Nannie 
generally went with me on these expeditions, and Mar- 
tin offered no objections. I think the old fellow was 
convinced that he had done her injustice, although his 
opinion of her total depravity was not altered. He, like 
the rest of us, felt there was nothing more to be feared 
on my account, that I was as safe now in the park, or 
open fields, as in my own room. These walks had a 
melancholy charm for me — the dull monotony of earth 


ELEONORE. HY 

and sky reflected my feelings so faithfully that I enjoyed 
their companionship. 

One afternoon I wrapped my shawl around me and 
started for a last look at the fields. The air was raw and 
chilly ; a sharp, cutting wind blew from the river, and 
the frost lay heavy upon the brown earth. No living 
creature was to be seen except flocks of crows and jack- 
daws whirling around the tops of the lofty elms. When 
the song-birds go to carry their music into a more sunny 
clime, they leave the kingdom of the air to these, their 
dusky brethren, whose hoarse cry accords well with the 
gloomy aspect of nature As the season advances, and 
the driving snows and howling winds proclaim the ap- 
proach of winter, these birds chase each other around the 
tall trees and deserted towers, and flap their wings in 
mad exultation over the coming storms. I never see 
them without feeling deeply, in my soul, the tragic poetry 
of the dying year; and that day especially I watched 
the busy congregation with a mournful interest. The 
twilight crept upon me before I \vas aware, and the thick, 
gray clouds w^ere climbing slowly upon each other. 
There was snow in the air, and I hurried towards home 
to reach shelter before it fell. As we came into the road, 
I observed a man on horseback riding slowly in front of 
us, and the next instant Zephyr, with a shrill cry, rushed 
off to join his old friend Pasha. I do not think I was 
surprised at seeing Herr von Waldenstein. The meeting 
seemed to me inevitable — a necessity as it were — before 
I could go away. He raised his head on hearing the 
dog, turned around, and galloped towards us. 

“ Fortune favors me, Fräulein Soltendorf,” he said, dis- 
mounting. “ I have been to the castle so frequently of 
late, that I feared to intrude by coming again, and yet 
you leave Rutwitz before long, 1 hear.” 

“ Yes, I go Wednesday,” 1 replied, coldly. 

“Wednesday!” he exclaimed, starting. “So soon! 
Well, I cannot blame you for going. Your stay among 
us has not been a very happy one.” 

“It is not my decision, Herr von Waldenstein, never- 
theless. My parents have thought best to shorten my 
stay here, and I must obey the summons.” 


118 


ELEONORE. 


“ And obedience is, I presume, no great sacrifice, said 
he, laughing. “ The prospect of a winter in the city is 
too enticing.” 

His words, and still more, the way in which he spoke, 
troubled me. In his eyes I was a frivolous girl, with no 
thought beyond my own selfish enjoyment. 

“ You are mistaken,” I returned. “ I am not depend- 
ent upon outside diversion. A winter in the city has no 
special attractions for me.” 

He looked up quickly. “ I never doubted your ability 
to endure solitude, Fräulein Eleonore, for I see you know 
how to use it ; but it would be strange if a young per- 
son did not prefer the pleasures of society, — youth is 
properly the time for their indulgence.” 

“ Yoif are very old, I suppose, Herr von Waldenstein ?” 
I rejoined, with a smile. 

“ Yery old, Fräulein Eleonore. Ten years older than 
you, at least. But in spite of my age, I am so foolish 
as to reckon a winter in town one of my greatest de- 
lights.” 

“ Then, if I am not your equal in age, I am in advance 
of you in one respect ; for, were I allowed my choice, I 
should remain in the country. And this reminds me I 
owe you an apology for the spirit in which I received 
your advice concerning peasants, the first time we met.” 

“ Ah I I remember. I played the pedant as usual.” 

“ So I thought at the time, but I did not know how 
to follow your suggestions, and they naturally struck 
me as ridiculous. I thought to meet these people on an 
intellectual plane, and the result was, I did not under- 
stand them, and they did not understand me. It was 
some time before I discovered that if one would know 
peasants, he must be one himself.” 

“ Excellent, Fräulein Eleonore 1 And how did you learn 
this ?” 

“ When I found myself indebted to a common laborer 
for my escape from the most terrible fate a mortal can 
conceive. Then I saw my error, and learned that the 
heart instead of the head is the bond between man and 
man. Education and culture erect barriers in the world 
of thought, but in feeling we all meet on a level. In 


ELEONORE. 


119 


hut or palace, I can weep with those who weep, and 
rejoice with those who rejoice. I can respect justice, and 
admire courage and perseverance, even though the cir- 
cumstances which call them forth seem to me trivial. It 
ought to be enough for any one that a fellow-being suffers, 
or is glad, to entitle him to our sympathy, and to give 
him a claim upon our help and comfort.” 

1 spoke warmly, and was almost ashamed of the ex- 
citement into which I had been betrayed. Waldenstein 
kept his eyes fixed upon the ground until 1 finished speak- 
ing, and then lifted them to my face with a look which 
caused my own to fall. 

“ We will not regret your misfortune, Fräulein Eleo- 
nore,” said be, “ if it has taught you this truth. It is 
always so. ' Life is a stern teacher, but a faithful one. 
I have some of its hardest lessons to thank for the little 
good that is in me.” 

“ Well, I have done penance for calling you a pedant,” 
I exclaimed, laughing, for I saw the conversation was 
becoming too serious. 

“ And a peasant, too,” he rejoined ; “ though, to be 
frank, that title is not amiss, for I am one through and 
through.” 

“And proud of it too, are you not?” 

“ Of course ; although, if it were possible, I should like 
the advantages of the city life.” 

“Why is it not possible ?” 

“ That question is not easily answered, Fräulein Eleo- 
nore. Fortunately, just now, my purse will not permit it.” 

“ Fortunately ?” I repeated, somewhat inclined to re- 
sent that qualification. 

“Notwithstanding tliis city life is so wholly contre 
coeiir with you, I hope you may find real happiness in 
it,” he continued, without heeding my question. “ Things 
will appear to you there in a different light.” 

“Do you thuik me so easily governed by my surround- 
ings, so fickle as that ?” I asked. 

“ Neither more nor less so than we all are. The most 
inflexible of us yield, in a measure, to circumstances. We 
will only hope "that the groundwork of your character 
may remain unchanged, that, the same earnestness which 


120 


ELEONORE. 


bas helped you forward here may prompt you to test 
each new opinion and sentiment, and sift the chaff from 
the wheat.” 

“ If I have really been assisted in true growth of char- 
acter by this retired life, is it not a proof that the oppo- 
site will do me harm ?” 

“ Such progress is never in a straight line, Fräulein 
Eleonore. We should grow one-sided were that the 
case. Solitude serves to deepen our natures, society to 
broaden them, and both are equally important.” 

“ And yet you say ‘fortunately ^ you cannot have this 
double culture.” 

He looked confused, and for a moment did not speak, 
while I grew very uncomfortable over the possible rude- 
ness of my remark, and began to seek for some escape 
from the difficulty. Before it opened, however, he said, 
with a faint smile, “Men in the country are never doomed 
to such absolute solitude as women, and so are in less 
danger of becoming narrow-minded.” 

This answer did not satisfy me, and the “fortunately” 
still remained unexplained. 

“ Can all the intellectual and social delights of the 
capital put together make me forget such an evening as 
this ?” said I, lightly. “ The dark, gray sky, the cheerless 
earth, the heavy atmosphere, together with the solemn 
silence, which hangs over all, are strangely fascinating 
to me.” 

“ Then you know how to find the charm of the charm- 
less?” said he. 

“ Harmony can. never be without attraction,” I replied, 
“ for it is the fundamental law of the beautiful and trans- 
forms wliatever it touches.” 

All this time he had been walking along with me, 
leading his horse by his side ; but just here, as we came 
to the road which turned ofl’ to the village, he stopped 
and extended his hand. 

“ I must say ‘ good-by^ now, Fräulein Eleonore. I 
fear I have already trespassed upon your forbearance, 
but it is the last time.” 

I laid my hand in his mechanically, and as mechani- 
cally repeated the good-by. When I tried to withdraw 


ELEONORE. 


121 


it, I felt his clasp tighten, and he said in deep, earnest 
tones, “ Life offers strange vicissitudes, Fräulein Eleonore, 
— even in your father’s house you may need a friend. If 
that time ever comes, will you remember that I — will 
you call upon me and trust me in any emergency ?” 

“ I will, indeed, if I should ever find myseff in that 
situation, — which may God forbid !” 

“May God forbid it, I pray with you 1” said he, sol- 
emnly. “ Farewell, Fräulein Eleonore. I dare not add 
the sweeter ‘ au remir? ” And with one more lingering 
look at my face, one more pressure of my hand, he turned 
away. 

The half-longed for, half-dreaded parting was over, and 
so different from what I had imagined it would be. It 
was my fault, the fault of my own foolish vanity, that I- 
dreamed of a deeper feeling where nothing but ordinary 
friendliness really existed. Alma’s nonsense had misled 
me, and although I knew it was unreasonable, I was dis- 
appointed. He had not even expressed a wish to see me 
again unless I should need his assistance. Why did he 
make that singular offer? Did he know Edith, and did 
he suspect her part in the occurrences of the past few 
weeks ? 

“My lady, there stands Herr von Waldenstein like a 
statue, gazing after us,” said Nannie, interrupting my 
thoughts. » 

“ Something has happened to his horse, I presume,” I 
answered, recollecting her presence for the first time. 

“ Then I should think he would look at him instead of 
staring at us,” was the apt reply. 

“ It is too dark to tell which way he is looking, Nannie ; 
and besides, you must not keep turning your head around 
in that way. What are you carrying Zephyr for?” I 
asked, seeing the dog in her arms. 

“How else could I get him home?” she replied, not. 
very respectfully. “ He wouldn’t leave that great black 
fellow, and my lady was so busy thinking, that she didn’t 
see nor hear anything.” 

“Well, put him down now, and let us walk faster: 
there is going to be a storm.” 

We hastened our steps and soon reached the village, 

F 11 


122 


ELEONORE. 


where the bright lights were already shining through the 
windows. As we entered the courtyard, the first large 
flakes of snow fluttered slowly to the ground. I was 
soon sitting by a blazing fire in my aunt’s room, but 
its cheerfulness did not touch me — I was silent and de- 
pressed all the evening, and went to my room earlier 
than usual, but not to sleep. 


XI. 

The day of my departure arrived. My trunks were all 
packed, and I stood by the window in my traveling-dress 
surveying for the last time the familiar prospect, while 
my aunt wandered about the house looking pale and dis- 
tressed. The parting was very hard for her, and anxiety 
for my future, I knew, added to its bitterness. It had 
been decided from the first that Louisa should accom- 
pany us ; and the day before, to the consternation of all 
concerned, Martin declared his intention to become one of 
the party. 

“ It needs some one with his senses about him, my 
lady,” said the old coachman; “ and if there is no one 
else, I must go. The farmer has promised to look after 
the horses and keep an eye upon that John. My lady 
can feel safe with him if she wishes to drive ; though it 
would be better to give the animals a couple of days’ 
rest.” 

“But, Martin, there is no necessity of your going. 
Louisa will take care of my niece,” objected my aunt. 

“ Yes, I know. I haven’t anything against the woman, 
— she’s a bit set up, but honest for all that. Still, women 
are of no use if that dev — if Fräulein Carola is along. 
I can see that all goes right, and it will be a good chance 
to look for the marble cribs.” 

“If you are resolved to go, I suppose I must do 
without you, Martin,” said she. “ But I shall be afraid 
to go to the station with Lora unless you drive.” 


ELEONORE. 


123 


The horses will do well enough there, my lady. John 
might just look into the stables when you come back and 
see that Hans has rubbed them off well and hasn’t let 
them drink too soon ; for he’ll drive too fast, I know, though 
I’ve made him swear he won’t.” 

I was not overjoyed at the prospect of the old fellow’s 
company, and somewhat troubled about the impression 
my singular cortege would make upon strangers ; but I 
knew how much it had cost him to leave his horses, and 
would not for the world have hurt his feelings by show- 
ing any reluctance to accept his offer. Carola knew 
nothing of our plans, and an expression of contemptuous 
astonishment passed over her countenance when she saw 
the number of people gathered before the door. 

“ Did you consult your taste or security in choosing 
this escort ?” she asked. 

“I did not choose it,” I replied. “ I would not have 
required such a sacrifice from these old people.” 

“A voluntary offering, I suppose, upon the altar of 
affection 1” she added, with a sneer. 

“ Your sneers are out of place, Carola. My aunt 
considered it only proper that an elderly person should 
attend us.” 

“ Then it is propriety that has been consulted ! That, 
of course, could not have suggested itself, since the 
peculiar variety of that article in vogue at Rutwitz has 
been to me from the first a puzzle. The rest of the 
world might look upon the presence of that old fellow as 
rather an outrage of propriety.” 

At the depot there was unusual bustle and excitement, 
and it seemed as if half the neighborhood had gathered 
to do me honor. Surely every green-house in the 
vicinity must have been stripped to furnish the bouquets 
which were piled upon me. Martin at once assumed 
command of the company, procured our tickets, selected 
the car, and seated us according to his pleasure. 

The train moved off amid the waving of hats and 
handkerchiefs, and Rutwitz was a thing of the past. I 
sat for a long time in silence, watching the rapidly- 
changing panorama through the car- windows, and think- 
ing of the friends from whom I had just parted. Cer- 


124 


ELEONORE. 


tainly Edith’s fears concerning my reputation would have 
been set at rest had she witnessed the ovation accorded 
to me. Alma Windhem and Waldenstein were the only 
ones I missed ; but the former was away from home, on 
a visit to a sick friend, and as for the latter, I concluded 
that he did not think it worth the trouble, — he had pre- 
viously said all that politeness demanded. 

It was quite dark when we entered the city : my heart 
beat quickly. Ina few moments I should see Edith, for 
she had promised to meet me herself. Would she resemble 
the fair picture my fancy had once painted of her? And, 
as that image rose before me, unconsciously the shadow 
of the past lifted, and all my former love and worship 
returned. The cars stopped, but I searched in vain for 
a lady answering to the descriptions I had received of her, 
— she was not there. Martin appeared, elbowing his 
w'ay energetically up to us, and shortly after a servant in 
livery came peering into the carriage as if he w^as in 
search of some one. 

“Are you sent for Fräulein von Soltendorf?” asked 
Carola, beckoning him to her. 

He touched his hat. “ Her Excellency bade me ” 

“Very well, show us the carriage and take charge of 
these bundles,” said she, dictatorial ly. 

He lifted his hat again, and began gathering up our 
shawls and satchels, while Martin stood by literally shakijjg 
with rage. 

“ I suppose these flowers belong to the other lady?” said 
the servant to Carola, whom he evidently mistook for me. 

“ You don’t seem to be very sharp-sighted, in spite of 
your fine clothes, or you would not take Fräulein Carola 
for your young mistress,” said Martin, with a chuckle. 

The man seemed puzzled, glanced at me, and then ob- 
serving the stately old Louisa, concluded she was my 
aunt, and addressed her accordingly. This made matters 
worse. Louisa colored, Nannie tittered behind her pocket- 
handkerchief, and Martin was quite restored to good 
humor by the blunders of his elegantly-dressed rival. 

“ Take us to the carriage,” said I at last, coming to the 
rescue, — “ and then help Martin to find a drosky for Louisa 
and himself. They do not go with us.” 


ELEONORE. 


125 


“ He need not trouble himself on my account, my 
lady,” observed that individual. “ I can take care of my- 
self, after I get that little gimcrack, Zephyr, out of his 
box.” 

Zephyr I I had not bestowed a thought upon him, and 
he would have been left behind, but for Martin’s thought- 
fulness. I thanked the old man heartily for his care of 
my pet, and then followed the servant to the carriage. 
When we reached our destination, the heavy gates flew 
back as if by magic. We drove through the spacious 
court, and stopped in front of a broad flight of steps. 
A man in black clothes, and two women, stood at the 
top, to receive us. 

“ I am the femme de chamhre of the gracious Frau 
the Minister’s wife; and their Excellencies commissioned 
me to express their regret at not being able to receive 
you themselves, but an engagement to dinner prevented ” 

“ My father and mother not at home I” I exclainied, 
more disappointed than I can tell. 

“I had the honor to make that statement,” she replied, 
with a low bow. “When my young lady has laid aside 
her wrappings in her own room, I will order refreshments 
for her.” 

I followed the speaker up the richly-carpeted stairs, 
which were lined with statuary and vases of flowers, and 
through a long corridor, into a spacious apartment, where 
she signified 1 was to remain. The room was at once cosy 
and elegant, although a little over-furuished. The light 
from the chandelier sparkled upon the mirror and gilded 
ornaments, and the damask hangings lent to it an air 
of cheerful welcome which was very grateful to me. My 
sleeping-room was also tasteful and pretty; but I observed 
there were two beds in it, and other arrangements for a 
double occupancy. 

“What are these two beds for?” said I to the woman. 
“ My maid never sleeps in my room.” 

She looked at me with astonishment; and, certainly, 
the green silk drapery was not exactly suited to a servant. 
“The second bed is for Fräulein Carola,” she replied, 
after a pause. 

“Fräulein Carola to share my apartments I” I ex- 
!!♦ 


126 


ELEONORE, 


claimed, with unqualified indignation of voice and man- 
ner. 

“Has my young lady never occupied the same room 
with her companion she asked. 

“Never; and it is absolutely necessary for me to be 
alone. Remove one of these Ijeds immediately, and show 
the Fräulein to another room.” 

“ I cannot do that without a special order from her Ex- 
cellency,” she answered, firmly. “ If my young lady will 
put up with it to-night ” 

“Under no condition! If there is no other way, put 
my bed in the parlor, and leave this to her.” 

She hesitated. “ I am afraid her Excellency will be dis- 
pleased,” said the woman. 

“ I will answer for her displeasure,” I rejoined, impa- 
tiently. “Do what I tell you, at once.” 

This prompt decision was little in accordance with my 
character, but I was so exasperated at the idea of having 
a person whom I hated and abhorred forced upon me, that 
I could have joined Martin and Louisa at the hotel, in 
spite of father, mother, and everybody else. Carola felt, 
I think, that they had gone too far, and tried to apologize. 

“ I am to blame for this,” said she, stepping forward. 
“ It is generally taken for granted that a lady and her com- 
panion will occupy the same rooms; and I neglected to 
inform your mother that such was not the case with us.” 

I looked at her without replying, and then turned to 
the woman again. “ You can make the necessary altera- 
tion while I am at supper, and show my maid to a room, 
too, if you please.” 

Her black eyes opened, and she surveyed Nannie from 
head to foot. “ I must have misundOrstood my lady. This 
young person ” 

“ Is my waiting-maid, and I wish you to show her to 
a room,” said I, sternly, for I suspected what was coming. 

“ I beg a thousand pardons, but I forgot to present 
Flora to my young lady. Her Excellency engaged her 
two weeks ago, so that she might learn the ways of the 
house before her services were needed.” 

“There is a mistake here,” said I. “My mother, I 
presume, did not expect me to bring an attendant. Of 


ELEONORE. 


127 

course, Flora must not suffer by it, however : she will be 
cared for here until she finds another place.” 

“ You despised my advice, Lora,” whispered Carola, 
“ but I repeat it, — send Nannie back. Your mother is 
very lovely, but quick-tempered, and it will make her 
angry to see her wishes thus disregarded.” 

“ I take the consequences upon myself. Have you any- 
thing else to say to me, Carola ?” 

“ I should like permission to go and see my aunt this 
evening,” she replied, meekly. 

My permission is of no consequence. Act your own 
pleasure.” 

As soon as I was left alone, I burst into tears. This 
was the “ coming home” of which I had so long dreamed. 
My parents could not sacrifice a dinner-party for the sake 
of welcoming an only child who had been separated from 
them for years. This was the treatment 1 was to expect 
in my father’s house, this the regard paid to my wishes. 

How long I sat there giving free vent to my grief and 
disappointment, I do not know. I was aroused finally 
by a summons to dinner, or supper, — I really did not 
know which to call it. The magnificence of the dining- 
saloon quite awed me, but the solitary cover upon the 
large table, and the number of waiters standing with 
folded arms ready to assist in the laborious task of 
serving it, provoked a smile. When they left me at des- 
sert, I sat for a long time quietly admiring the beauty 
and tasteful splendor which were everywhere displayed. 
What a contrast the light and warmth of this scene pre- 
sented to that cold, damp evening when I saw Walden- 
stein for the last time 1 It was all before me with the 
distinctness of reality, — the cold, gray sky, the massing 
clouds, the cawing of the crows, and the dusky twilight. 
I remembered what he said to me as we walked through 
the fields. Would my new life work the change he pre- 
dicted? Even now I felt But what did I see? Had 

the wine betrayed my senses, or was it flesh and blood, the 
queen, perhaps, of all this splendor? For like a queen, 
a right royal lady, was the image reflected from the op- 
posite mirror to my bewildered gaze. The tall, slender 
figure stood motionless behind one of the folding-doors, 


128 


ELEONORE. 


and the large, dark eyes were turned full upon me. A 
wealth of golden hair crowned the beautiful head and fell 
in long curls upon shoulders of most exquisite mould. The 
light played with the folds of her heavy satin dress, and 
was tossed back in showers of radiance from the jewels 
which lavishly adorned her person. I was transfixed by 
the dazzling vision, and almost believed it a creature of 
my dreams. But the. mirror revealed as well my own 
features, and their expression brought life to the fair 
statue. A smile like sunshine touched her face, and, with 
extended arms, she hastened towards me. 

“At last I have you, my sweet child,” she murmured, 
tenderly. “ I can at last look in your face, speak to you, 
hold you to my heart! How I have wanted you, my 
Ella. But I will keep you with me now, — we will never 
be separated again 1” She pressed me to her heart again 
and again, and kissed my forehead and eyes, while I sat 
spell-bound by her beauty, and yet pained at the thought 
of the dark suspicion I had entertained against her, and 
which now, in view of her loveliness, seemed absolute 
profanity. 

“ You do not speak, my darling,” she continued, re- 
proachfully. “ Are you not a little glad to see me ? — do 
you not love me a little ?” 

“ You are so beautiful, Edith,” I replied, without think- 
ing what I said. “I must control my ecstatic admiror 
tion before I can speak, before 1 can thank you for your 
love.” 

This was a strange salutation for a child to offer a 
mother whom she had never seen. I felt it at once, but 
Edith did not seem displeased. She laughed, and said, 
playfully, “ Did Madame St. Aubin teach you to flatter, 
Ella? You surely did not learn it at llutwitz.” 

“No one taught me, Edith. I always try to speak the 
truth.” 

“ A dangerous person you will be, in that case ! But 
you are just as graceful a little fairy as I imagined, only 
your dress is a fright, and the arrangement of your hair 
horrible. Really, my sweet Ella, they have done all they 
could to make you ugly.” 

I glanced at my dress, which, of course, looked dull 


ELEONORE. 


129 


enough against Edith’s shining satin, with its long train 
spread out picturesquely on the floor, and, when my eyes 
again sought her face, they fell upon the pearls and dia- 
monds wound about her neck and in her hair, and I rec- 
ognized them with some astonishment as the ornaments 
of my dead mother. Edith may have noticed my look 
of surprise and guessed its cause; for she arose hastily, 
and, taking my arm, drew me into a little cabinet which 
was lighted only by a small lamp. 

“ Let us have a quiet little chat, Ella,” said she, set- 
tling herself in the corner of a tete-a-tete, and motioning 
me to a seat by her side. “ I will examine your ward- 
robe to-morrow, — it is out of the question for you to ap- 
pear in this style before people. I hope they have shown 
you your maid. She comes highly recommended, and has 
already given proof of her skill.” 

I was thankful that the feeble light rendered my height- 
ened color invisible, as I replied, “I believe aunt wrote 

you that I was entirely satisfied with my maid, and ” 

“ With your toilet provisions 1” she interrupted, with 
a smile. “ Such modesty is really touching. Happily, 
I suspected the folly, and laid my plans accordingly. I 
hope it will not break your heart if all your liutwitz 
finery is consigned to a rag-peddler.” 

I did not answer immediately. To give up Nannie 
was impossible, and yet it seemed to me Edith was 
right, — my fears, in this quarter at least, were unreason- 
able. “But Nannie is here,” said I, at length. 

“ What does that matter, my dear ?” said she, twirling 
the fire-screen, which she held in her hand. “ She can 
be sent back to-morrow, or the next day.” 

“ She is faithful and very much attached to me,” I sug- 
gested. “ Such a good girl every way, that ” 

“ Your rustic sentimentalism is very becoming, Ella, 
but quite useless here. We city people are so depraved 
ihat we consider only the ability of our servants, letting 
them be, for the rest part, as God pleases.” 

I did not know what to say in reply, and my heart 
sank at the thought of mentioning Carola, but I made 
the attempt. “ Carola came with me, because you thought 
we bad unjustly accused her of ” 


130 


ELEONORE. 


“ Child, I wish you had not touched that subject,” she 
interposed, quickly. “ There is time enough by-and-by 
to discuss it.” 

“ I do not wish to talk about it, Edith. I only want 
you to know that I hate and abhor her very presence, 
and that nothing can induce me to share my apartments 
with her.” 

“ Really, you know how to make known your wishes 
pretty decidedly,” said she, elevating her eyebrows. “ We 
will not pursue the topic further, however. You shall 
have your own way this time, but I hope in future 
to convince you of your folly. I will go with you to 
your room now, for I have no more time to spare. Yes,” 
she added, in reply to my questioning look, “ our min- 
utes here are not at our own disposal. We are the 
slaves of society, my dear Ella, and you, too, will feel 
the yoke soon, poor child 1” 

Judging by the cheerful way in which she alluded to 
this slavery, it was not specially to be dreaded, and I 
could not express regret at the burden about to be im- 
posed upon me. She led me through several rooms, and 
in one of them, as we passed, I felt sure I saw Carola’s 
traveling-bag lying on a chair ; but there was no time to 
assure myself by a second glance, Edith hurried me for- 
ward so rapidly. 

“Do you hear those voices, my dear?” said she, stop- 
ping suddenly. “ I have incurred reproach as a negligent 
hostess, by spending these few moments with you.” 

“ Have you company this evening, mamma ?” I asked. 

“This evening!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Every 
evening, child, when I am at home, and that is almost 
always, for there are but few houses I honor with my 
presence. Come, I will take you to the hall, and then 
you can find the way yourself.” We crossed the room 
to an opposite door, which she opened, and, pushing me 
gently through it, kissed my forehead. “Good-by till 
morning, sweet one, and pleasant dreams,” said she, and 
turned away. At this moment occurred the thought of 
my father, and it came over me with such power that 
I grasped Edith’s hand almost fiercely and drew her 
back. 


ELEONORE, 


131 


“And my father I” I cried, in an agitated voice. 
“ Shall I not see my father to-night 

She was evidently annoyed, and answered, rather im- 
patiently, “ You know we agreed not to mention that 
alfair now. Your father is, of course, very angry, but I 
hope in the morning I can prevail upon him to meet you 
kindly.’^ 

I was so terrified by these words that I dropped her 
hand involuntarily, and before I could collect myself suf- 
ficiently to reply, she was gone. 

Even now, after the lapse of so many years, it gives 
me a twinge of pain to think how I stood staring at the 
door through which she vanished. Emotions -the most 
contradictory crowded upon me, and a painful sense of 
insecurit}’' filled my soul. I did not know what to be- 
lieve, what to think, what to do. Whichever way I 
turned, the sting of distrust repelled me. Who had 
estranged my father from me? Why did he not want to 
see his child, — the child that once was more to him than 
all the world beside ? 

I found Nannie awaiting me in my parlor, which had 
been changed according to order. The clrandelier was 
extinguished, and a pair of candelabra substituted in order 
to accommodate the light to a sleeping-room. Besides 
my bed, a dressing-bureau and other toilet conveniences 
had been added to the already superabundant furniture, 
and there was scarcely room to turn around. My little 
maid was evidently out of spirits, and her eyes showed 
that the ready-flowing fountain of tears had been un- 
sealed. I pitied her from the bottom of my heart, but 
had no consolation to offer. My own resolution was too 
weak to oppose Edith, and I knew not what the future 
would bring to the poor child. 

“ Has Carola returned V' I asked, hearing a noise in 
the next room. 

“ I do not know, my lady. Fräulein Carola is no con- 
cern of mine,” was the somewhat surly answer. 

I started up quickly to bolt the door opening into her 
chamber, but Nannie stopped me. “I have attended to 
the lock, Fräulein Lora. Bolts don’t seem to be the 
fashion here, and there was no key either.” 


132 


JELEONORE. 


“ What did you do I asked, amused at the eagerness 
with which she spoke. 

“ I went to the Frau Sultana of the maids, and de- 
manded one. She looked at me from head to foot as if I 
was some wild animal, and then told me to go to the 
housekeeper. Well, my lady, you may suppose I was a 
bit angry. I asked her how she thought I was to find 
the housekeeper, and told her as long as she’d shown my 
lady her room, it was her place to see that things were 
right in it. Her majesty cast her eyes over me again, 
and I thought she wanted to take my picture, but she 
only asked what I wanted of a key. I laughed her lady- 
ship in the face, and said I didn’t know what use they 
made of keys here, but in the country we used ’em to 
lock doors with. She drew down her face, got up slowly, 
and said there wasn’t any thieves and robbers here, that 
my lady need fasten herself in. ‘ I don’t know anything 
about that,’ said I ; ‘ but I do know she won’t sleep with 
the door open into Fräulein Carola’s room.’ Then she 
grew curious, took me for some country pumpkin easy to 
squeeze, and tried to make me tell her all I knew, but 
she found out her mistake, and so went back to her airs, 
rang the bell like a princess, and told the girl to take me 
to the housekeeper. The latter was real kind, and gave 
me the key right away.” 

Nannie’s story made me laugh, and scattered my 
gloomy reflections. She had played her part better than 
her mistress, and her prospect of maintaining her posi- 
tion was better than mine. I went to bed that night ex- 
hausted in body and mind, and it was long past midnight 
before I slept soundly. Edith, Carola, Waldenstein, — 
these three appeared in my dreams strangely associated 
in their influence upon my destiny, alternately assisting 
or thwarting each other in plots against my happiness. 


ELEONORE. 


133 


XII. 

When I awoke the next morning, the painful thoughts 
of the evening before were all gone, and only the delight 
of being at home, of finding Edith as beautiful, as loving, 
as I had formerly fancied her, filled my heart. True, 
there was one shadow, — my father’s anger ; but I was 
so innocent of any offense that now, in my brighter 
mood, I felt only a word was necessary to restore me to 
my old place in his affection. Then I remembered how, 
when a child, I used to run to his room, often in my 
night-dress, for a morning kiss, — how his face would 
light up at the sight of me, and that he was never too 
busy to take me in his arms. I would surprise him now 
in the old way, and see if I could not recall his former 
love. So I rang for Nannie, and, hurriedly dressing my- 
self, summoned a servant to show me to his office. From 
the part of the house where I was, it could only be 
reached through his private apartments ; but this gave 
me an opportunity for making the surprise more complete. 
The rooms were separated by a curtain, and, hidden be- 
hind its heavy folds, I watched him for a few moments 
attentively, as he sat writing at his table. He looked 
much older than when I last saw him. His hair was 
quite thin, and streaked with gray, and there was a cer- 
tain languor of expression and attitude that I had never 
associated with him. Then I stepped softly up behind 
his chair, and, throwing my arms around his neck, mur- 
mured, tremblingly ; 

“ Lora has come to say good-morning I Good-morn- 
ing, my dear, darling papa.” 

For an instant he was speechless with astonishment, 
and then clasped me passionately to him, exclaiming, 
“ My child I my child !” 

I lay sobbing upon his breast, and the great tears rolled 
down his cheeks and mingled with mine, as he scanned 
every feature of my face, and kissed my eyes, my hair, 
* and my forehead. My heart beat with rapture. I had 
not lost my father’s love. It was all there still, and but 
a touch was needed to call it forth. 

12 


134 


ELEONORE. 


“ How happy it makes me to see you again, dear 
father!” said 1. “ How could you keep your Lora away 

from you so long ?” 

“Then you did not quite forget your old father, my 
precious child 

“ Forget you I How you talk, papa ! You know I did 
not want to leave you. No one in the world has ever 
loved and spoiled me like you.” 

“Yes, Lora, yes! You were the dearest treasure of 

my heart, and I believe I ” He stopped suddenly, 

and then added, “ How much you resemble your mother, 
my child ! The sight of you recalls very vividly those 
happy years of my past life.” A deep sigh followed 
these words, and it was some moments before he spoke 
again. “ And this little lady was so tired yesterday that 
she could not see her father ?” he continued. “ Were you 
really so fatigued by your journey, Lora, or was my 
spoiled child pouting a little?” 

“ On the contrary, papa, they told me you were out 
of humor,” said I, in consternation at this double game 
of Edith’s. “ I was led to believe that you had become 
a terrible ogre, and must be pacified before I dare ap- 
proach you. I should not have had courage this morn- 
ing, but for the sunshine.” 

His face grew serious, and, pushing me gently from him, 
he began walking up and down the room. “ What sort of 
a story is this that I have heard about you, Lora ?” said he, 
at length. “ How could such a thing happen under the 
eyes of your aunt?” 

My heart beat quickly at this question, but I was too 
sure of my father’s love now to be seriously disturbed by 
it. “ It could have happened as easily under your own 
eyes, my dear father,” I answered. “ In traveling through 
Sicily and Greece a man takes a guard because he knows 
there are robbers ; but what could lead one to sup- 
pose such a caution necessary in the quiet country at 
Rutwitz.” 

He smiled faintly, and, looking in my face, said, half 
to himself, “ You are too much like your mother to be a 
vain coquette ; and yet how would a man dare ” 

I stopped his lips with a kiss. “ Do not say anything 


ELEONORE. 


135 


more about it, darling papal We will not spoil this first 
happy meeting by talking about that shocking afifair. Just 
come to my room and see the pile of bouquets which 
were given me when I left Rutwitz, not by young men, 
but by their fathers and mothers, as a testimony of their 
regard and sympathy for the innocent victim of that 
cowardly act. Hear my aunt’s account of it, and then 
you will see that you have no reason to be ashamed of 
your daughter.” 

“ I knew it,” he ejaculated, earnestly. “ I knew it, 

whatever this Fräulein Göttin came with you, did 

she not, Lora ? Do you like her ? — are you happy with 
her?” 

Again I stared at him in speechless astonishment, 
while he, thinking I did not understand the question, 
I presume, repeated it in a louder tone. 

“Like Carola, papal” I cried, when I found voice to 
speak. “I hate the very sight of her 1 Slie was in league 
with that miserable Kollner.” 

“ Your suspicion there is probably false, my child,” 
he replied, with some constraint. “But I am sorry she 
is disagreeable to you, for Edith is strongly prepossessed 
in her favor. I fear, Lora, young Waldenstein has some- 
thing to do with your dislike of Carola,” he added, with 
a smile. “ Her judgment with regard to him, however, 
accords entirely with my own.” 

This unexpected allusion to Waldenstein sent the blood 
into my face, but threw a world of light upon my father’s 
conduct. In spite of my aunt’s letters, I saw that he 
knew nothing at all of Carola or the grounds of accusa- 
tion against her. But he mistook the cause of my blushes, 
and, laying his hand upon my shoulder, said, half amused, 
half annoyed, “ I hope your affection for this rustic ad- 
mirer is not very deep, Lora. I knew his father and 
brother well, and the acquaintance was not calculated to 
make me desire a closer connection with the family, — 
setting aside the fact that his present position by no 
means warrants him in raising his eyes to my daughter.” 

“ You are mistaken both as to the character and inten- 
tions of this young man,” I replied, with some decision. 
“ I refer you again to my aunt, and, indeed, the whole 


136 


ELEONORE. 


neighborhood. He is looked up to by every one as a 
model of manly virtue. Equally untrue is Carola’s re- 
presentation of his attentions to me. He could not, alas I 
raise his eyes to your daughter, for she is too far below 
him, and I have good reason to suppose he would 
never turn them upon her in any direction. I have 
seen him very rarely, and when we parted he did not so 
much as express a regret at my leaving, or a hope that 
he might see me again.’’ 

“ This girl seems to be thoroughly false,” said my 
father, resuming his walk. ‘‘ I must speak to Edith ; I 

must Ah I there you are,” he exclaimed ; and, looking 

up, I saw her form in the door. 

When I first observed her, she was standing as she had 
done the night before, statue-like, with her eyes bent upon 
me. She wore a morning-dress of purple silk, long and full, 
and on her head a jaunty little cap trimmed with ribbons 
of the same color, beneath which her lustrous, golden hair 
fell in graceful neglige. I thought her more beautiful, if 
possible, than in her full evening toilet, and was quite as 
much dazzled by her appearance. 

“ You here so early, Ella I” said she, closing the door 
behind her. 

“ That is not so much a marvel to me as your visit, 
Edith,” rejoined my father, smiling. “ How comes it you 
are abroad at this hour ?” 

“ Because joy at the arrival of our dear child would 
not let me sleep, I suppose,” she answered, bestowing an 
affectionate glance upon me. “ I wanted to consult with 
you, too, as to how we should celebrate the happy event.” 

A shade passed over my father’s face. “ I think the 
best thing is to content ourselves with Lora’s presence,” 
he replied, seriously. 

“ Of course, my dear,” laughed Edith. “ Come, pet, 
sit down here and tell me what you have been talking 
about. My poor little darling, how they have made you 
look again ! This evening I shall superintend your dress- 
ing myself.” 

“What is Hardeck here for?” asked my father, ab- 
ruptly, turning to his wife. “ I am greatly surprised to 
see him.” 


ELEONORE. 


137 


Edith’s long, dark lashes drooped for an instant, and 
then, looking her husband squarely in the face, she 
answered, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, “ Why 
do you ask me, dear Soltendorf? I should think you 
ought to know better than 1. Give me that paper near 
you, please, Ella. I want to see what opera there is to- 
night.” 

“ I was astonished to find him in the parlor yesterday 
evening,” continued my father ; “and I ” 

“ Astonished, were you, my dear ? I think it would 
have been more astonishing if he had omitted the atten- 
tion,” she answered, glancing up from the paper. “Ah I 
Don Giovanni I — you are fortunate, my dear, to see that 
the first evening.” 

The shadow deepened on my father’s face. “Let the 
opera go for the present,. Edith ; 1 have something to say 
to you. Besides, you cannot expect to give up your 
reception this evening, even for Don Giovanni.” 

“ You are so droll, my dear I What has Don Giovanni 
to do with my reception ? I am pledged to that, of course, 
since I specially invited those who were here yesterday 
to meet Ella.” 

“ Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing Hardeck 
again, I have no doubt.” 

“ Certainly, if he comes,” she replied. “ Then you can 
inquire yourself the reason of his being here. I have 
scarcely had an opportunity to speak to him.” 

“ I thought I saw you engaged in rather animated con- 
versation with him, and ” 

Edith rose eagerly. “ He was telling me of Florence. 
Just think! Laura Rospetti is there again, — she has 
returned from Sicily in flying colors. You can guess how 
interested 1 was in the news.” 

“I am more interested in Lora, at present. I must tell 
you, Edith, Carola Göttin does not impress me as-^he 
excellent person you are disposed to consider her.” 

“ Oh, a family conference, I see !” said Edith, leaning 
back in her chair, and fanning herself with the paper. 
“I see this little darling has made good use of her 
time. We will weigh the pros and cons in Carola’s 
case by-and-by, and, above all, give the girl a chance to 

12 * 


138 


ELEONORE. 


defend herself, which she will hardly find time to do to- 
day. Is it true, my pet, that your aunt sent her imbecile 
old waiting-maid and coachman along with you ? The 
good lady must be growing childish. A mercy it was 
dark when you reached the city I There, don’t look so 
distressed,” she added. “ It’s the last time you shall be 
rendered so ridiculous.” 

“ How came aunt to think of sending those people?” 
asked my father. 

“She would not let me travel with Carola alone,” I 
replied, timidly. “ And, as my maid is very young, she 
sent Louisa to take charge of us.” 

“ Very properly,” answered my father. “ I remember 
Louisa well. Was Martin the other one ?” 

“ Yes, papa. He saved me from that horrid man, and 
deserves my eternal gratitude. It was an act of great 
self-denial for him to leave home, but he distrusted 
Carola, too, and thought ” 

“ She would swallow you on the way,” laughed Edith. 
“A strange world, this Rutwitz I But we have aired the 
subject sufficiently, I think,” she added, yawning. 

“ Not quite, Edith,” interposed my father, hastily. 
“ Where is this Martin ? I want to see him myself, and 
thank him.” 

“You forget, dear Soltendorf, your whole day is en- 
gaged. You must not be troubled with it. I will say 
to him, in your name, whatever you desire.” 

“ But I would rather see him. I may find a spare fif- 
teen minutes somewhere.” 

“ No, no, Robert; you must not burden yourself with 
it,” persisted Edith. “ Besides, you know we are going 
to Rutwitz soon.’’ 

“ True. Well, thank him for me, and give him this 
watch and chain as a token of my gratitude” — and he 
took from his pocket a handsome gold repeater, and 
handed it to his wife. 

“ Is that a suitable present for a coachman ?” she asked, 
turning it over. 

“ It is a suitable present for the savior of my child,” 
was the reply. “ I have always worn it, and it is valu- 
able both in itself and to me.” 


ELEONORE. 139 

“Just as you say. And now come, my little Ella: we 
must not -rob papa of any more precious time,” 

She rose, and, taking my hand, drew me out of the 
room so hastily that I had scarcely time to give my 
father a parting word. When we were out of his hear- 
ing, she said, gravely, “ You must take care, my pet, not 
to speak of disagreeable things to papa. He has so much 
to do, and so many unpleasant duties to meet, that we 
ought, as far as it lies in our power, to make life easy 
for him. You will feel this yourself after a little. And 
now tell me how you are going to begin the day. I cannot 
look after your entertainment, I am sorry to say, — I have 
a number of odious visits to pay, — but shall see you at 
breakfast. We have preserved our Italian custom here, 
breakfasting at one and dining at six. It is rather incon- 
venient, on account of the early hour at which the theatres 
open, but. it is your father’s wish. Perhaps I can take 
you to drive in the park this afternoon, — at any rate, we 
will go to the opera, — and this evening I shall introduce 
you to my friends. Now you can go out with Carola, 
look at pictures, attend to your shopping, or whatever you 
choose.” She spoke with a sort of nervous haste, and 
was about leaving me, when I reminded her of Martin. 

“ Well, cannot the man wait?” she asked, impatiently. 
“ I cannot attend to it to-day.” 

“ He leaves early to-morrow morning,” I suggested. 

“ Then you take the watch, and give it to him with all 
the ceremony requisite for the occasion. I must decline 
the honor of his acquaintance. Now leave me, my dear. 
I have a whole pile of letters to answer.” 

She was gone, and I stood alone in the hall, feeling 
about as desolate as possible. The interview with my 
father had, it is true, made me very happy, but I saw 
plainly that, engrossed as he was by business, I should 
have little enjoyment of his society, nor, judging from 
present prospects, would I see very much of Edith. The 
article time, so abundant at Rutwitz, seemed here very 
rare, and I was all astray in my estimate of the duties 
upon which the precious moments ought to be bestowed. 
I could not imagine what there was that morning of more 
importance to my beautiful mother than becoming ac- 


140 


ELEONORE. 


quainted with her “ darling little daughter.” Was it the 
fashion of the world to place forms and ceremonies above 
the needs of the heart? Must one be false to himself in 
order to fulfill the demands of society? If so, how could 
I ever feel at home in it^ how could I help being chilled 
by its conventionalities? Again there crossed my mind 
a little of that bitterness against Edith which had been 
so dissipated by her presence. If she was so anxious to 
spare my father all vexation, how was it that my con- 
nection with Kollner had been placed before him in so 
unfavorable a light? Alone, with such thoughts, that 
first forenoon under my parents’ roof passed rather dole- 
fully. My room, of itself, was enough to make one home- 
sick. It was not possible to give it a habitable air in its 
present condition, and whether any improvement was in- 
tended, or whether the inconvenience was to be imposed 
upon me as a punishment for refusing Carola’s compan- 
ionship, I could not tell. 

Soon after breakfast, Martin and Louisa came to bid 
me good-by. It was severing the last tie that bound 
me to the dear old home, and I could not keep the tears 
from my eyes at the sight of their familiar faces. 

“ It will be dull enough at Rutwiiz, Fräulein Lora,” 
said Martin, with a preliminary “ hem.” ‘‘We shall all 
go round wu'th long faces, thinking how^ fine it was when 
the Fräulein was with us. But I hope it will not last 
long. You will come back again, my young lady; you 
won’t stay here.” 

“ Why not, Martin ?” I asked, with a sorry smile. 

lie waited awLile before answering, cleared his throat 
again, and said, with that solemnity he always used when 
he had a long speech ready, “Fräulein Lora must not 
take it ill of an old man, if I say they don’t seem to treat 
my young lady here as she deserves. I’ve been talking 
to Kannie, and she says Fräulein Carola is here, that her 
Excellency has been out of sight all day, and that in this 
fjreat palace they hare given the Fräulein a room where 
she can hardly breathe. That wasn’t so at Rutwitz; and 
my lady ” 

“Rever mind, Martin,” said I. “Nothing can ever 
make up for the love and kindness of my aunt, but in 


ELEONORE. 


141 


other respects I shall not suffer.” Then, to dismiss so 
awkward a subject, I took up the watch and chain, and 
presented it to him, with such words of grateful regard as 
I thought my father would himself have uttered. But 
the effect of this was not at all what I anticipated. He 
appeared more surprised and embarrassed than pleased, 
and, if Louisa’s tact had not come to the rescue, I fear the 
whole thing would have been a failure. She admired the 
elegant gift, opened the case, touched the repeater, and at 
last, returning it to Martin, said, — 

“ This is such a magnificent present that Monsieur 
Martin is completely overpowered by it. What coach- 
man ever owned such a watch as this ? Why, he will be 
the envy of every one in the neighborhood I And here 
are the arms of his Excellency on the back, so that every 
one can see it belonged to the Minister and that he gave 
it to Monsieur Martin.” 

Her words acted like magic. His face brightened, and, 
after a satisfied nod or two, he said, with a chuckle, 
“Yes, they’ll open their eyes now ; and no one will think 
I stole it, with that marking on it.” 

Secure in his good name, he could enjoy the distinction 
conferred upon him without scruple ; so, pocketing the 
treasure, he buttoned his coat tightly over it, — one had to be 
careful of valuables in a city, he said, — and then extended 
his hand to take leave of me. “ Only write when you want 
to come back to Rutwitz, Fräulein Lora, and I will come 
after you with the horses. My young lady has seen her- 
self now what sort of traveling it is in the cars, — rolling a 
Christian about like g piece of luggage. It may be well 
enough when a body’s in a hurry, and I’ve nothing against 
it for them that like it, but my young lady don’t need to 
go with the rag-tag and bobtail of the earth, — she can 
travel comfortably in her own carriage.” 

Before I had time to thank him for this generous offer, 
the door opened, and Nannie burst weeping into the 
room. “Is it true, my lady ?”she sobbed. “Have I got 
to go away from here ? The people at home will all point 
their fingers at me if I’m sent back. Please, Fräulein 
Lora, let me stay !” 

I looked at the poor child, without knowing what to 


142 


ELEONORE. 


reply, and again Louisa came to my aid. “ Be quiet, my 
dear Nannie,” said she. “You forget, — this is not the 
way to come into the presence of your mistress. Your 
orders come from her, and, unless she has made some 
change, they have only been making sport of you.” 

“ Who told you you were going, Nannie ?” I asked, 
with some degree of composure. 

“ Who else but that upstart of a waiting-maid ! — madam, 
she calls herself, though she’s no more married than I 
am.” 

“ Tell her to come here immediately. I will see what 
it means,” said I, putting on a very brave face, although 
I trembled inwardly. 

“ I call that a bit high-handed, my lady,” observed 
Martin, when Nannie was gone. “ I don’t think much of 
that little minx ; but if the Fräulein wants to keep her, I 
should like to know who’s to hinder it. But, if the Frau 
her Excellency is an unreasonable lady, with your leave 
I say it, Fräulein, — if I were in your place, I would 
say what I had to to the Herr his Excellency, and let the 
other go.” 

It was strange I had not thought of that before. Of 
course my father would consent to my keeping Nannie ; 
and, with this assurance, I prepared to meet the Frau 
Sultana on her own ground. 

“My lady wishes to see me?” said she, loftily, on en- 
tering. 

I surveyed her with an air of indifferent hauteur : 
“ There is a singular misunderstanding here, and a very 
troublesome one to me. How is it that you make arrange- 
ments for my maid to leave, when I have given no order 
to that effect ?” 

“No misunderstanding, my lady,” she replied. “Her 
Excellency told me particularly to send Nannie back with 
the old people.” 

I pressed my lips tightly together and with difSculty 
kept back the tears. A glance at Martin, however, who 
stood regarding the woman with his old look of an en- 
raged bear, encouraged me. “Nevertheless, you must 
have made a mistake,” said I. “My mother has said 
not a word of it to me, who certainly am the chief one 


ELEONORE. 


143 


concerned; and Nannie will remain here until I tell her 
to go.” 

“ The command of her Excellency was so positive that 
I should be guilty of great neglect if I ” 

“ That will do,” I interposed, sternly. “ 1 repeat it, 
Nannie remains here for the present. My mother will not 
expect you to act contrary to my direct orders.” 

“ Then perhaps the Fräulein will do me the favor to 
say this to her Excellency,” said she, with a defiant toss 
of the head, and turned to leave. 

“ One thing more,” I added. “Why has there been no 
change made in these rooms ? I cannot live much longer 
in such a furniture-warehouse.” 

“ Because neither the femme de charge nor myself 
has been directed to make it,” was the cool reply; and she 
went out. 

It was as much as I could do to say a few last words to 
my old friends, so deeply was I hurt by Edith’s heartless 
treatment. She had left me entirely to myself, thus far, 
during the day ; and at breakfast no allusion was made 
to my comfort or happiness, nor did I see her afterward 
until we met for dinner. 


XIII. 

I FELT little in the mood for meeting strangers that even- 
ing, but there was no escape : so I rang for Nannie, and we 
exerted ourselves to the utmost, that my dress this time 
might leave no room for Edith’s criticism. The result was 
quite satisfactory, and, as I turned for a last look in the 
mirror, I concluded my appearance must gain her ap- 
proval. A confused murmur of voices met my ear at 
the door of the salon, and, on entering, I found myself 
in the company of several elderly gentlemen, — persons of 
distinction, I judged, for they had about them a great 
many badges and stars of office and honor. Edith sat, or 
rather reclined, as was her custom, in the corner of a 
sofa, and one of the gentlemen was leaning over the arm. 


144 


ELEONORE. 


She had, doubtless, been informed of my opposition to 
her orders, for the delicately-penciled brows contracted 
slightly when she saw me; but the frown was gone in an 
instant, and she extended her hand with a most engaging 
smile. 

“ Come here, my love. I have been waiting for you a 
long time. See, Prince Durchlaucht,” — turning to the 
gentleman near her, — “this is the little treasure of whom 
I have so often told you.” 

The Prince looked at me in some confusion, apparently 
not quite sure what he ought to say to the “ little treasure,” 
but at last bowed politely, and stammered something 
about his joy at the charming acquaintance. 

“ One of your lovely nieces, I believe ?” he added, to 
Edith. 

“ Really, Prince, it is quite worth while to make you 
one’s confidant! As much as I have talked of my dear 
daughter, and now you take her for a niece !” 

“I deserve reproof, most gracious Excellency,” replied 
the Prince. “ My memory is getting like a sieve. I as- 
sure you, I never suspected that the Minister had been 
twice married 1” 

The attention of all in the room was directed to me by 
this introduction, and they came forward to pay their 
respects to the daughter of the house, thus sparing the 
old gentleman further reproaches from Edith on account 
of his forgetfulness. At table, however, a sharp discus- 
sion of political affairs arose, and the part which he bore 
in this convinced me that, however it might be with 
memory, the other powers of his mind were remarkably 
alert. After our return to the parlor, I saw him in earnest 
tete-ä-tete with my father for a long time, and at an early 
hour the company separated. 

“ Good heavens, how tedious I” exclaimed Edith, when 
the last one was gone. “ My dear, never marry a states- 
man I They are the most tiresome, imbecile creatures on 
earth, — with exceptions, of course,” she added, glancing 
playfully at her husband. 

“ For instance, when they have stars on their shoulders, 
and bald heads,” suggested ray father, throwing himself 
wearily into a chair. 


ELEONORE. 


145 


“ Those are the very ones included in the rule,” was 
her answer. 

“A miserable arrangement altogether, I suppose, Edith. 
Perhaps you think the stars better suited to the dark- 
haired at laches. 

“ You look tired, Ella,” said she, taking no notice of this 
remark; “ but it is only what might be expected after two 
hours of such martyrdom. 1 will not compel you to go to 
the opera with me; save all your strength for the rest of 
the evening r besides, it is half over by this time. Carola, 
you have better nerves, — suppose you come ? Adieu, Sol- 
teudorf ! Farewell, little one.” And, with a wave of her 
fan, she vanished from the apartment. 

My father soon followed iier, leaving me again alone ; 
and, as my thoughts traveled rapidly over the events of the 
day, I fell to considering my own conduct in reference to 
the future. As I have said elsewhere, naturally I did 
not possess much independence of character; but it was 
very clear that what litle I could command must be brought 
into play. I must devise means to gain a firm foothold 
somewhere, since Edith’s total disregard of my wishes 
and comfort proved that I had nothing to expect from her. 
The influence I had over my father might serve me ; but 
how to make this available without preferring direct 
complaint against his wife, or irritating her through inter- 
ference in her arrangements, was a problem that would 
require all my skill to unriddle. 

The clock struck ten before Edith returned. I looked 
up as she entered the room ; but her eyes were fixed upon 
the floor, and she seemed entirely unconscious of my pres- 
ence, while her face wore an expression of mingled per- 
plexity and determination. She gave a little start when 
I spoke her name, and asked, harshly, “ How did you 
come here? What do you want?” 

“ I was waiting for you, mamma,” I replied ; for I saw 
from her abstracted manner that she did not know what 
she was saying. 

believe I was dreaming,” said she' putting her 
hand to her head. “ You must not be angry at me for 
speaking so rudelj^ my sweet child.” Tlien, leading me 
nearer to the light, she scanned me from head to foot. “ I was 
G 13 


146 


ELEONORE. 


in hopes you would have had your hair rearranged while 
I was gone: your whole attire is shocking, poor thing! 1 
intended to give orders to Flora about it myself, but the 
entertainment of those imbecile old dolts took up all my 
thoughts. You may be specially proud of any conquest 
you make in such a guise, my little Ella. But come ; we 
have no time to lose. I suppose there have been a num- 
ber of arrivals already.” 

She threw open the doors, and revealed to my astonished 
gaze a suite of brilliantly- lighted parlors, tolerably well 
tilled with people. After excusing herself gracefully to 
her guests for being so late, she introduced me to a 
number of persons as her darling child, and then left me 
to find my way alone. On looking around, I saw no one 
whose appearance particularly impressed me, save one 
old lady. Her very plain face was rendered attractive 
by most expressive eyes, and, in spite of her thin angular 
figure and limping step, she possessed a remarkable dignity 
and grace of carriage. At last our eyes met, and, coming 
towards me with outstretched hand, she exclaimed, good- 
naturedly, — 

“ I will wager, Lora, that you haven’t a suspicion I am 
Aunt Francisca, and probably never heard of such a being. 
Madame St. Aubin was a watchful Cerberus : she drove 
away all your insignificant relations most carefully.” 

“ Do you belong to that class?” I asked. 

I suppose so, for she never permitted me to cross her 
threshold, and, as I had no special claim upon you, — I am 
only a distant cousin of your father, — I submitted with- 
out a protest. Here, perhaps, I may be of use to you, 
for I have an article in my storehouse that you don’t 
find current in these circles. I shall see you often,” she 
continued, without giving me a chance to speak. “Edith 
cannot spare me at her receptions, for I serve as a sort 
of propriety screen to her. You see yourself I am just 
the one for a social scarecrow. But sit down: I cannot 
stand long, on account of my lameness. Here is the 
most interesting acquaintance of the evening for you, 
— Professor Dortenbach, my excellent friend, who is kind 
enough to devote himself to the entertainment of a crusty 
old woman.” 


ELEONORE. 


14t 


The individual designated opened his mouth to reply, 
but she did not give him a chance. 

“ You must know, Lora, that the people of this city 
consider an atmosphere of learning and culture quite 
essential to their existence, so we use the Professor as 
a sort of scientific or aesthetic pastil to disperse the indis- 
})ensable odor through our drawing-rooms, and furnish 
him in return a delightful recreation.” 

“Recreation !” I exclaimed, not exactly perceiving the 
drift of her remark. 

“ Certainly, my dear. A mind that does hard work 
needs to unbend at times, as much as a dray-horse needs to 
rest at noon. Thorwaldsen, it is said, used to amuse him- 
self evenings with a child’s lottery ; Lessing, with g-ames 
of chance; and Prof. Dortenbach finds his diversion in 
listening to the silly gossip of society.” 

The old man laughed, and folded his hands over his 
knee. “ You will know the Countess Francisca better by- 
and-by, and be able to take her ” 

“Her chatter for what it is worth,” she exclaimed, in- 
terrupting him. “ Do not be ungrateful, my friend ; I 
contribute more to your amusement than a dozen others. 
Ah I there comes the Swedish ambassadress. A most 
brilliant evening, — 1 suppose you are the attraction, 
Lora. Edith will not let this chance slip for drawing 
you away from my dangerous company ; so farewell.” 

Sure enough, she beckoned to me immediately. “ Dc 
keep somewhere near me, child,” said she, frowning. “I 
cannot go chasing after you all the time.” 

I obeyed, and attached myself to the circle of which 
she was the radiant centre. Her lively conversation and 
joyous laughter seemed to infect every one, although she 
herself did not look satisfied, and her eyes kept wandering 
over the crowd as if in search of some object to fill the 
void. Involuntarily my own followed them, and ere long 
they encountered a young man sitting alone, in a retired 
part of the room, with his head resting upon his hand, 
and apparently buried in his own reflections. At the 
first glance the blood almost stood still in my veins. I 
thought it was Kollner ; and the resemblance was certainly 
most remarkable. It was a face of, perhaps, less beauty, 


148 


ELEONORE. 


but more character than his : it struck me as the original 
of which Kollner’s might be a copy. He sat half lounging 
in his chair, in a careless, graceful attitude, as much at 
ease as if in his own chamber, and wearing an aspect of 
most complaisant indifference. As soon as I could get 
away from Edith, I went in pursuit of the Countess to 
learn from her SQinething about this solitary unknown. 

“ Who is it?” she exclaimed, in answer to my question. 
‘‘ Hasn’t he been introduced to you ? Why, it is Count 
Hardeck, one of the young idlers attached to the Florence 
embassy. He is here on leave of absence.” 

The name sounded familiar, but I could not remember 
where I had heard it. I turned to look at him again, 
and, as I did so, saw Edith gradually withdraw herself 
from the company and make her way towards that part 
of the room. She came up behind him so suddenly that 
he had not time to rise, and, leaning over his shoulder, 
spoke a few words in an eager, hurried manner. He 
looked up quickly, hesitated a little, and then bowed his 
head without replying. The next moment, to my surprise, 
I saw the two approaching our corner. 

“ My dear Ella,” she began, stopping before me, 
“Count Hardeck has been pining for an introduction 
to you all the evening, and I have been so cruel as to 
neglect it until now.” 

The gentleman’s countenance did not at all corroborate 
this statement, for it wore an absent, preoccupied expres- 
sion, as if his thoughts were busy about other things. 
“ It may seem discourteous in me not to have paid my 
respects to you before, Fräulein Soltendorf,” said he, with 
cool politeness; “but I was ignorant of your existence 
until a moment ago.” 

“And then instinctively pined for her acquaintance, I 
suppose. Count Rudolph,” remarked Aunt Francisca. 

“ Do you still play your old part. Countess ?” he asked. 

“Always the same,” she replied. “I undertook it 
when young, and have never made any change. Apropos I 
What brings you here at this time, my dear Count?” 

“ What a question to ask a diplomatist! Do you think 
I am indiscreet enought to betray the destinies of Europe 
in an evening chit-chat ?” ' 


ELEONORE. 


149 


“You are the Atlas, then, who bears Europe on his 
shoulders. But I know you, young diplomatist, and 
know, too, that, whether here or in Florence, your prin- 
cipal business is to pay court to the beautiful wife of 
your Minister.” 

“Then why did you ask?” said the young man, not 
at all disturbed. 

“ 1 see, Rudolph, the child is father of the man. I 
expect you will set fire to the house over our heads next.” 

“ When I do, I will give you warning in time to make 
your escape, Aunt Francisca,” was the laughing rejoinder. 

“ I’d rather trust my own eyes, — they would serve me 
better. Were you at the opera to-day ?” she continued, 
abruptly changing the subject. 

The Count looked up at the ceiling, as if seeking an 
answer to the question there,, and then -replied, slowly, 
“ If I remember rightly, — yes !” 

“ I thought so,” ejaculated the old lady. 

“ Is it not singular, Fräulein Soltendorf,” said he, 
turning to me, — “the Countess knows and thinks every- 
thing beforehand, and still questions me in this way ? 
You must be heartily tired of the catechism. Have the 
kindness to relieve me from it.” 

This remark embarrassed me. The resemblance to 
Köllner, which I had remarked at a distance, impressed 
me more strongly on a closer examination, and uncon- 
sciously I had abandoned myself to its mysterious fascina- 
tion. In a comparison of the two men, the Count had 
the advantage. As I have said, his features were not so 
fine, but they showed a finer nature, and, although not 
untouched by the simoon-breath of the world, they were 
less deeply marked by lines of passion. Instead of the 
studied elegance of the former, he possessed an air of 
careless abandon, quite as captivating, and while Köllner 
always seemed to regard the effect of his attractions upon 
others, this man apparently was indifferent to it, attending 
more to the impressions made upon himself. Possibly he 
was equally self satisfied ; but this disagreeable character- 
istic did not obtrude itself, and what with the one was 
impertinent assurance gave to the other an appearance of 
dignified serenity. To conceal my agitation, I rushed at 
13* 


150 


ELEONORE. 


once to the other extreme, and treated him with more 
frankness and cordiality than I was wont to extend to 
strangers. This may have attracted him, possibly, for he 
remained by my side during the rest of the evening. 

When the Countess Francisca took leave of me, she 
pressed my hand, and said, in a low tone, ‘‘ Do not have 
much to do with Rudolph Hardeck, Lora, and for heaven’s 
sake don’t fall in love with him, — that’s my first advice. 
There are plenty of dark-haired Adonises here for you to 
rave about, but he is taboo for you.” 

“Never fear. Aunt Francisca; I am in no danger of 
losing my heart to any of them,” I answered, gayly, and 
bade her good-night. 

As I thought over the evening, that ugly, lame old 
woman was the pleasantest thing about it. In her manner 
she reminded me of Alma, and the wish arose that I 
might find in her as true a friend. What did she mean 
by that strange caution? Why was Hardeck taboo for 
me, as she had oddly expressed it? He was neither 
saint nor god; and what relation could possibly arise 
between us, rendering such an interdict necessary ? 

My first thought in the morning was of the difficult 
task which lay before me. I longed to shirk it, and leave 
time and chance to set things right, but it persisted in 
thrusting itself upon my conscience as a duty, and the 
happy effects wrought upon my character by solitude and 
suffering were still enough iu the ascendency to make me 
listen to that voice. So, greatly to Nannie’s disgust, I 
■ dressed myself at the same early hour as the day before, 
and started for my father’s room. He was busy writing, 
but laid down his pen at once, and opened his arms to 
receive me. After listening to my account of the even- 
ing’s entertainment, he inquired whether Martin had been 
there. I took good care not to let him know that I had 
delivered his commission, instead of Edith, and, before the 
subject was dropped, adroitly introduced Nannie. 

“ There was some mistake, dear papa, — through one 
of the maids, I presume. My aunt particularly desired 
Nannie to remain with me, for she is faithful and reliable. 
, A few hours with a hair-dresser, and one or two lessons 
from a modiste, will remedy all her deficiencies, and then 


ELEONORE. 


151 


I shall have a maid that exactly suits me. I do not like 
that Flora,” 

“ Why have you not mentioned this to Edith, my 
child ? Certainly you can retain your Nannie, no matter 
if she is not up with all the latest fashions. Those can 
be had for money, but gold will not purchase fidelity and 
honesty. Dame Blanche had better be careful ; she is 
not in very high favor with me, and I shall inform her 
that if she puts a single stone in your way she will have 
to settle the matter with me.” 

This was good, and I rejoiced for Nannie’s sake over 
the “ Frau Sultana’s ” uncertain dominion ; but I recol- 
lected the old proverb about striking while the iron is 
hot, and so proceeded to state my second grievance. 
“ I do not know whether '«t is her fault, papa, or the 
neglect of the castellan, but I have no suitable apartments 
yet.” 

“No suitable apartments, Lora I” be exclaimed. “ What 
does that mean ?” 

“ Oh, I can explain it,” I replied, laying my head coax- 
ingly on his shoulder. “ They gave me a lovely little 
sleeping-room and beautiful parlor, but expected me to 
share them with Carola, and I would as soon live with a 
serpent as her. So I bad my bed placed in the parlor ; 
but it is so full I am almost smothered.” 

“ Strange that Edith should permit this,” he muttered. 
“ You must consult her in future, Lora, with entire frank- 
ness. She loves you tenderly, and will see that your 
wishes are all carried out.” 

“ She has had so many engagements since I came,” I 
replied, a little unsteadily. 

“ Yes, yes, I know. If your rooms please you, Lora, 
I will give orders to have Carola put elsewhere, and you 
can enjoy them alone. Will that do, my darling?” 

“ Splendidly, dear father ! Now I shall have a de- 
lightful home all to myself And, to complete my domes- 
tic arrangements, will you give me a certain allowance 
for my expenses, so that I may know how much I can 
spend ? Aunt used to let me have money when I needed 
it, but I would rather be independent.” 

“ What a heart-full of petitions my little Lora brought 


152 


ELEONORE. 


to her father this morniDg' I I spoke to Edith about your 
pocket-money some days ago, but 1 suppose she has not 
found time to give it to you.” 

This was an ugly crag, and I was at a loss for a moment 
how to sail around it. “ Why will you not give it to me 
yourself, papa 1 asked, as unconcernedly as possible. 
“ Edith may have forgotten it, and I should not like to 
remind her.” 

My father looked at me searchingly for a moment, then, 
putting me from his knee, arose and opened a safe which 
stood in one corner. “You are right, Lora; it is not 
pleasant to be asking for money constantly. This will 
meet all your wants for the present.” And he handed me 
a handful of notes and gold-pieces. 

“How long must this last?” I asked, weighing the 
gold in my hand. 

“ A month, of course ! Do you expect to receive that 
amount every morning,” said he, laughing. 

“Every morning!” 1 exclaimed. “I should have said 
every year.” 

“ Nonsense, Lora ! To be sure, it is three or four times 
your monthly allowance at school, but there will be greater 
claims upon you here. Now that I think of it, I will give 
you your mother’s jewelry too, my child. Some of it is 
too costly for you to wear until you are married ; but it is 
yours, and ” 

He had opened a secret* drawer while speaking, and 
stood now gazing into it with a look of utter dismay. 
“What’s this?” at last cried he. “A robbery in my 
room 1 This safe has been entered ; and yet it cannot be 
unlocked except with my key 1” 

I did not share his alarm, for the burglar was pretty 
well known to me. “ Do not be uneasy, dear father,” 
said I. “You have probably authorized mamma to give 
them to me, and they are safe in her keeping.” 

“ No, 1 have not. When you were a child, I sometimes 
permitted Edith to take them ; but after we came here 
they were put away for you. Have you seen her wear 
them ?” he asked, looking at me sharply. 

, I was not very well skilled in deception ; still, I answered, 
with a smile, “You must know, papa, whether she hai 


ELEONORE. 


153 


worn them since I have been here. I might not recognize 
them.’’ 

“ I have other things to think about than ladies’ orna- 
ments, my child,” he answered, abruptly. “ But I must 
send you away now. Continue your visits in tlie morn- 
ing, for that is almost the only hour of the day I can call 
my own, and I must have my little Lora with me some 
time.” 

1 returned to my room both proud and happy. So 
long as my father’s heart and ear were open to me, whom 
had I to fear ? Holding fast to this support, I could resist 
the malice aud intrigue of a thousand Ediths. 

The old housekeeper soon came to inquire when I de- 
sired the change to be made in my rooms. 

“Immediately,” 1 answered. “I want a place large 
enough to turn around in.” 

“So I should think, my lady. I made bold to remind 
her Excellency of it yesterday, but she went away with- 
out saying anything. Perhaps she didn’t hear me.” 

“ Perhaps not,” 1 repeated, and walked out of the room. 
The parlors were empty and uninviting, so I went on to 
the library, and, taking a book from the shelves, sat down 
to read. In a short time, the side-door opened, and Carola 
entered. 

“You here, Lora!” said she, slightly confused. 

“You here, Carola! I might also exclaim,” said I. 

“ Have you been with Edith f — can I see her now ?” 

“ I doubt it,” she answered, quickly. “ Her Excel- 
lency has a severe headache, and is still in bed. She 
wished me to do an errand for her, but has forbidden any 
one to disturb her again.” 

“ Very well ; do your errand, and I will go on with my 
reading.” 

“ You seem in a remarkably good humor this morning, 
Lora. What has happened ?” 

“ Nothing especial, unless it is that I am at last to have 
my rooms to myself,” I replied. 

'“Who gave that order ?” she asked, in’ the imperious • 
tone which sometimes escaped her. 

“ I did. Have you anything against it ?” said I, and 
settled myself again'to my book, 

G* 


154 


ELEONORE. 


Edith’s head must have been greatly relieved by her 
prolonged rest, for there were no traces of sulfering upon 
her fair brow when she entered the breakfast-room. On 
the contrary, she was particularly jocose, and began rally- 
ing me on my triumphs of the preceding evening. 

“Our little Ella took all hearts by storm,” said she to 
my father. “ I am apprehensive of most serious con- 
sequences.” 

“Who were the victims, Lora? Tell us, that we may 
condole with them,” he inquired, playfully. 

“ I am not aware of any,” I answered, coolly. “ I 
talked with no one but the Countess Francisca, and she was 
the only person who showed me any marked attention.” 

“ Then you think it quite a matter of course that a 
gentleman should devote himself to you for a whole 
hour,” laughed Edith. “ Others did not, however, and I 
should have been cruel enough to interrupt the tete-ä-tUe 
if I could have disengaged myself.” 

There was nothing in this, even if it had been strictly 
true, to occasion embarrassment; but the thought of 
Kollner which it suggested brought the blood into my face. 

“ Do look at the dear child, Soltendorf,” she continued. 
“You see the proof of my words.” 

“Why, Lora, you are positively purple? Who is this 
dangerous fellow ?” 

“ Who was it, Ella ? Ah, it seems your lips are sealed, — 
but we can guess. Didn’t you notice him, Carola?” 

“I did not see the gentleman, your Excellency, but I 
heard that Count Hardeck was very attentive to Fräulein 
Lora.” 

My father’s face changed in an instant. “ Count Har- 
deck I” he repeated, sternly. “ Did you find him so at- 
tractive, Lora ?” 

“ The attraction was on the other side, I should judge,” 
interposed Edith. 

“ That young man entertains a great partiality for my 
house,” he returned, pushing back his chair. “ It is un- 
fortunate the regard is not mutual. I heartily wish he 
would go back to Florence. Can I see you in my office 
after awhile, Edith? — I have something to say to you.” 
And he left us hurriedly. 


ELEOXORE. 


155 


When we met at dinner, my loving mamma greeted 
me with a torrent of playful reproaches. 

Come and sit down by me, you naughty child,” said 
she. “ I have a bone to pick with you. Why did you 
not make known your wants to me, instead of annoying 
your poor father with domestic troubles ? I am entirely 
willing Nannie should remain ; indeed, so far as that 
goes, it is a relief to me, for I need Flora myself. And 
the other arrangement could have been as readily effected. 
That makes me think, you must remind me of your mother’s 
jewelry, some time. I have it in keeping for you. See 
here, papa !” she cried to my father, who at that moment 
looked into the room ; “ I have been scolding our little 
girl for not having more confidence in me. 1 hope she 
will be better in future.” 

“ I will try, mamma,” I answered, and kissed her hand 
with, I fear, hypocritical contrition. “ To prove it, I shall 
ask you, right away, to go out with me to-morrow before 
breakfast, and make a few purchases.” 

“Before breakfast! What an idea, child! We cannot 
sacrifice our night’s rest to a shopping expedition ; but I 
will go after breakfast, with the greatest pleasure.” 

No possible excuse offered that day, and she was 
obliged to take me with her to the opera. The music 
was delightful, and during the first act I enjoyed it 
intensely ; but, as soon as the curtain fell. Count Har- 
deck, whom I had observed in the box opposite, joined us, 
and during the rest of the performance he and Edith, 
kept up a smothered buzzing behind my back, which 
sadly interfered with the pleasure. Remembering what 
my "father had said of this man, I looked upon Edith’s 
conduct as very strange, to say the least. She permitted 
him to lead us to our carriage, and accepted all his atten- 
tions with very evident pleasure. Greatly to his credit, 
as I thought, he did not come to the reception, in spite 
of the very urgent invitation extended to him. Per- 
haps, if he had, the fair hostess might have been more 
interesting and the hours less tedious to her guests. 

The next morning, as I started for my father’s rooms, 
this time with the firm resolution to broach the subject of 
Carola’s dismissal, I was met by a servant, who informed 


156 


ELEONORE. 


me that his Excellency was very busy, and could see no 
one. 

‘‘Not even me !’’ I exclaimed, with astonishment. 

“No one at all, my lady,’’ was the decided answer; 
and I turned away. This unsxpected coup de maitre on 
the part of Edith staggered me, for I was sure the mes- 
sage did not come from my father. His cunning wife, 
rather, had discovered my plan of operations and taken 
this means to intercept it. There was nothing for me to 
do, however, but submit, which I did with a very heavy 
heart. 

To my amazement, in the afternoon Edith reminded 
me of our shopping engagement, and declared herself 
ready to set out at once. She made no inquiry into my 
wants, but drove straightway to one of the most fashion- 
able stores of the city, where, again without reference to 
my taste or judgment, she proceeded to examine and select 
from the mass of costly fabrics submitted for our approba- 
tion. When the bill was rendered, she carelessly inquired 
whether I would be her banker, since she had forgotten 
her purse and did not like to buy on account. 

I was so disconcerted by this request that, without a 
word, I placed the purse containing all that my father had 
given me in her hands, at the same time timidly sug- 
gesting that I needed a few things myself 

“ Do you, my love ?” she exclaimed, opening her eyes. 
“Why did you not tell me before ? — there isn’t time now. 
But we will have some goods sent to us, and you can choose 
what you like at home.” 

On entering the carriage, she ordered the coachman to 
go to the park, — why, I could not imagine, for the weather 
was anything but inviting for a pleasure-ride. A driz- 
zling rain was falling, and the windows were so covered 
with mist that we could not see a thing. Neverthe- 
less, Edith lowered the one by her side as we approached 
the grounds, apparently insensible to the damp chilly air 
which blew in our faces, as well as the damage done to 
her handsome velvet mantle. Not another vehicle of any 
description was to be seen, and only one solitary horse- 
man in the distance. 

“I declare, Ella, there comes a gentleman on horse- 


ELEONORE. 


15T 


back I’’ said Edith. “ I began to think we were the only 
ones courageous enough to brave this weather.” 

It was, as I feared, Count Hardeck. The fates seemed 
determined that I should meet him everywhere. He 
rode quickly forward on recognizing us, and, after com- 
plimenting our heroism, wheeled around, and established 
himself as our escort for the rest of the way. Fortunately, 
1 was not near enough to share, in the conversation, 
which was carried on in low tones through the open 
window, and. Undisturbed in my quiet corner, I amused 
myself by watching the Count’s handsome horse. At 
the gate of the park he left us, and for some time after 
my companion was silent. 

“ What have you been pondering so long, little one ?” 
she asked, at length, when we were almost home. 

“No weightier a subject than Count Hardeck’s horse!” 
I replied. 

This answer appeared to amuse her greatly. “Ah, you 
cunning rogue! 1 did not suspect you of such tricks. Con- 
fess, now, you were trying to devise some means for detain- 
ing your admirer in the city. Never mind, my sweet pet, 
we will put our heads together and foment a plot to bring 
it about. I will help you, in spile of all the ministers 
and ambassadors.” 

The carriage stopped, and she was gone before I could 
say a word ; in fact, I had nothing to say. My skill in 
the battle of life was very slight, compared with hers, and 
my tactics very inferior, for I found myself outwitted at 
every turn — “snuffed out,” as she expressed it — by her 
feeblest efforts. It was earlier than usual when I went 
to her room before dinner, but my father was already 
there, lounging in an easy-chair before the fire, while his 
beautiful wife sat near him, chatting in her liveliest strain. 

“ Why did you not come to see me this morning, my 
little Lora?” he asked, drawing me to him. 

“ You must scold me for that, Robert,” interposed 
Edith. “ I prevented her from coming, for I am furiously 
jealous of these mornings alone with you.” 

“What hinders you from making a third one in the 
party ?” he said, in a tone that struck my ear, I cannot 
tell why, unpleasantly. 


14 


158 


ELEONORE. 


“You know very well I cannot get up so early,” she 
replied, pouting like a spoiled child. “ Besides, I will 
not be a third one there. I must be sole mistress of your 
heart, Robert. That is my weak point; and an enraged 
lioness is a gentle creature, compared with me when 
your love is in question.” 

“ But, Edith, what folly I Lora can ” 

“I will not listen to you I” she cried, stopping her 
ears. “ I know the feeling is unreasonable, but it is 
stronger than I am. I will love our swöet child more 
than ever, if that is possible, but she must not rob me 
of her father’s heart — I claim that all to myself. Just 
continue those horrible meetings,” she added, laughing, 
“ and I will show you what I can do.” 

“ Edith, little fool, what do you want ?” said he, some- 
what puzzled. 

“ I will tell you, Robert,” she exclaimed, and, throwing 
her arms around his neck, whispered the rest in his 
ear. 

My presence was evidently de trop in this scene, and 
I retired to another part of the room, while sad, bitter 
emotions filled my heart. What would my future be 
with one so incapable of regarding the happiness of 
others, and yet whose personal charms were constantly 
interceding for her? But this was not the worst. Not 
alone the outward conditions of my life had been blighted 
by her, — she had dragged from its high throne the most 
sacred image of my soul. My father, whom I had 
always held in trustful veneration, who had stood before 
me heretofore as the hero of all manly dignity and power, 
was robbed of his sanctity, and, under her blandishments, 
appeared a weak, deluded mortal. When I saw her white 
arms caressingly wound around him, and her fair silken 
curls against his silver locks, when I marked how her 
fond whispers, and the kisses which those red lips pressed 
upon his furrowed cheek, bewildered and captivated him, 
there crept over me a kind of benumbing amazement and 
dismay. 

We found Carola awaiting us in the dining-room, 
and it dawned upon me then that this outburst of 
affection from Edith had all been arranged beforehand, 


ELEONORE. 


159 


so as to make me a spectator of her power over my 
father, for when he left, after dinner, she gave a deep 
sigh of relief, as if she had been undergoing some terri- 
ble infliction. 

“ You take it very easy, Ella,” said she, half peevishly. 
“ If talking doesn’t happen to please you, not a syllable 
do you utter, never thinking of poor me, tired, and 
almost bored to death.” This speech was highly flatter- 
ing to her husband, and I should like to have had him 
hear how much his company was valued. “ There is no 
opera to-night,” she continued. “ What shall we do with 
the evening ?” 

“Have you no reception, mamma?” I asked. 

“ Of course, simpleton ; but it is only eight o’clock, and 
there is an inexhaustible eternity of time till then. Ah, 
my carriage is ready I Farewell, my darling; I have to 
leave you.” 

Carola went too, and I fell to meditating upon the 
curious chronological phenomenon that presented itself 
here. No time at all, and an inexhaustible eternity on 
hand, in the same week I Edith’s foresight in providing 
for this latter commended itself to my admiration, the 
more so as it seemed the only eternity upon which she 
had bestowed any thought. 


XIY. 

So life rolled on in my father’s house, with monotony 
enough to make it familiar, but lacking wholly that glow 
of affectionate confidence which belongs to home. I was 
always sure of quiet mornings, and these hours afforded 
leisure for reading, writing, sewing, and other minor 
duties, besides attending to the poor and suffering who 
came to me for assistance. This part of the obligations 
resting upon her high position, Edith laid upon my 
shoulders. I hardly know myself how it came about. 


160 


ELEONORE. 


At first, some special cases were intrusted to me when 
that peculiar chronometer of hers left not a minute at her 
disposal ; then, gradually, it became a habit with her, 
until, finally, I had the entire management of her chari- 
ties. Her name was paraded at the head of benevolent 
societies, while I did the work, and, as she never hesitated 
to lend its glory to any new organization that requested 
it, my hands were soon full ; but this, in the end, proved 
an inestimable blessing to me. The earnest employment, 
the melancholy glimpses of human misery, afforded by 
it, guarded me from the temptation, so strong here, to 
live solely in the external and material. It confirmed 
that inner steadfastness which, in this whirlpool of 
amusement and dissipation, I stood in danger of losing. 
Whoever, in the morning, has looked upon forms wasted 
by sickness, hunger, and suffering, and has had bis heart 
touched by the cries of his fellow-beings in distress, will 
be secure against the fascination of the evening’s glitter 
and show. The rustle of silks, the flash of jewels, and 
the sparkle of bright eyes, will soon fade from the imagi- 
nation, if the day has been first consecrated by this 
solemn service. There was one point in this business, 
however, that occasioned me considerable perplexity, 
namely, the enormous demands it made upon my purse. 
I do not know whether it was forgetfulness in Edith, or 
whether it grew out of her evident determination to 
escape annoyance of all kinds, but she was never ready 
to meet her subscriptions, and if paid at all they must 
come out of my funds. Sometimes, when I reminded 
her of them, she would offer some pretty excuse, im- 
ploring me to spare her “such horrible details,” and 
again, thoroughly vexed, pronounce me very unkind to 
trouble her just when her purse was absolutely empty. 
This latter was as remarkable as her time. It was 
always full when an article of dress, or some personal 
adornment, was in question, and no caprice in this re- 
spect exceeded her means ; but for other objects it never 
contained a cent, and any one who felt inclined might act 
as cashier in her stead. Of course I never again took 
my full allowance when I went shopping with her, but 
still, with the closest economy, my monthly accounts 


ELEONORE. 


161 


would hardly ever balance. As much as I groaned over 
this, it, too, did me good. I learned the worth of money, 
and the vice of extravagance. 

With the same artless freedom that marked her appro- 
priation of the contents of my pocket, she criticised my 
clothes. They were not elegant enough to suit lier, — too 
plain and simple for her artificial taste. One morning, 
when she was in a particularly good humor, I ventured 
a reply to these comments, reminding her that the great- 
est part of my pocket-money went into her hands. 

“ What an idea, my pet!” she exclaimed. “And sup- 
pose it does ; could you make a better disposal of it ? 
You know it needs only a word, and the little I do owe 
you will be paid with interest : so that is merely a 
pretty excuse. Still, I will listen to my heart, and help 
the ungrateful child if I can.” 

I placed little reliance upon this proffered aid, never 
suspecting how it was to be obtained. 

“ Robert,” said she, the next time my father entered 
her parlor, “there is something you must do for me! 
Our poor Ella has too small an allowance. She dresses 
scandalously, — the darling child, — and, when I reproved 
her for it, said it was her father’s fault. You deserve a 
scolding, you bad man ; but if you’ll promise to do better, 
I will forgive you for being so cruel to my sweet pet.” 

My father looked sober. “ Lora must be a very poor 
manager, if she cannot get along with what she has. 
There are few young ladies who ” 

“Tor heaven’s sake, don’t give us a sermon, Robert! 
I shall not have my little darling abused. Not a 
syllable, Ella,” she continued, as I opened my mouth to 
explain the true state of the case. “I will stand between 
you and this savage father. He has no conception of 
the thousand and one wants of a woman. Now, do you 
intend to quarrel with your wife, my dear, or will you be 
merciful to my child?” And, folding her arms, she sur- 
veyed him with coquettish defiance. 

“ Lora may thank you for this indulgence,” he replied, 
with a loving glance into her animated face. “I will 
give her an extra sum this month, but it must not be 
repeated. I cannot train her for a spendthrift.” 

14 * 


162 


ELEONORE. 


I wanted to refuse this upon the spot ; but I could not 
act independently with Edith. To meet her light, playful 
manner by serious opposition was out of the question, and 
the attempt, even, seemed ill-natured assumption. She 
offered no resistance, she simply did not yield, — abhorred 
conflict, but, in shunning it, made sure of her victory. 
Every assertion of myself, thus far, had been like striking 
the water. There was a splash, and then the stream 
flowed merrily on, without heeding the blow upon its 
surface. I felt her influence upon me grow stronger, op- 
pressively so, and yet there was no way to escape it. 
She was never severe, never unkind, but I trembled at 
the slight frown which occasionally gathered upon her fair 
forehead, and my heart beat timidly whenever I crossed 
her wishes. Unintentionally, almost unconsciously, my 
thoughts and words were constantly at variance, engen- 
dering a habit of hypocrisy totally alien to my natu- 
ral disposition. But this, strange to say, increased my 
affection for Edith, from the necessity 1 experienced of 
reconciling my actions with myself. In this instance I 
did not dare justify myself, because it would have in- 
volved a strong reflection upon the fair petitioner. So 
she had the twofold advantage of touching her husband’s 
heart by her motherly tenderness, and at the same time 
gaining an addition to her own funds; for the day of its 
transfer from her purse into mine never came, — she hap- 
pened ‘‘just then” to be out of money. I speak of these 
things now, when the completed picture is framed in the 
past, with certainty; but then it was merely a faint sur- 
mise. She herself would jiave regarded the imputation 
of such fraud as a vile slander. It was her intention to 
make it all right with me, but the ability was wanting. 
I do not think Edith could be called a hypocrite, exactly, 
nor was her purpose to deceive : she merely pursued her 
own wishes, no matter who suffered in consequence. 
Her will was law, and by this the most difflcult contin- 
gencies were simplified. 

Up to this time I could not decide whether my sus- 
picions of her complicity with Kollner were just or not. 
She was frivolous, and inordinately fond of pleasure, but 
those waste places of the soul which deepen into the 


ELEONORE. 


163 


abyss of crime I bad not discovered ; the dark passions 
of revenge, hate, avarice, jealousy, — all these premoni- 
tors of vice seemed W’anting. Her singular persistency 
in retaining Carola puzzled me, as well as the perfect 
understanding which seemed to exist between them. 
Since the morning visits to my father were given up, 
all. hope of obtaining the latter’s dismissal through him 
had to be laid aside, and a second appeal to Edith would 
have been as useless as it was disagreeable. The girl 
herself gave me no more trouble, and I should probably 
have abandoned any further attempts to get rid of her, 
had not an event occurred which opened my eyes to the 
danger I ran through her remaining. 

A few days after our ride in the park. Prince Durch- 
laucht, whom I had not seen since the evening after my 
arrival, was present at our reception. From the first 
moment of his appearance Edith devoted herself to him 
most assiduously, which was a matter of no little wonder 
to me, when I remembered the injury done to her nerves 
at the dinner-party by the “ imbecile old statesman.” His 
rank, I knew, did not call forth this extra courtesy, for 
she placed very little stress upon the position of others, 
provided they accorded the first place to her, and, besides, 
there were several other princes in the room. As usual, 
I had sought Aunt Francisca and her select company of 
friends, to which Count Hardeck also attached himself 
soon^after his arrival. He, too, appeared to notice Edith’s 
strange caprice, and, if I am not mistaken, his eyes fol- 
lowed her with a look of impatient expectation. He was 
silent and distracted, and scarcely spoke except in reply 
to some question addressed to him directly. In fact, 
Prof. Dortenbach appropriated all discourse to himself in 
the elaboration of one of his pet theories, only pausing, 
now and then, for the assent of his auditors. Jn the 
midst of one of these interesting periods, Edith beckoned 
to me. 

“Do not be so exclusive, my dear,” said she. “You 
must not allow yourself to be so monopolized, — the 
amiable hostess is impartial.” 

Her remonstrance was somewhat incomprehensible to 
me. “ You surely would not have had me so rude as to 


164 


ELEONORE, 


leave the Professor while he was speaking, dear mamma?” 
I replied. “ He would have considered me culpably in- 
different to philosophy and the arts.” 

‘‘Do you hear that, Durchlaucht?” said she, tapping 
her neighbor lightly with her fan. “ The darling has 
been discussing philosophy with Professor Dortenbach, 
and you, wicked man, insisted upon it that Hardeck was 
the magnet. Do penance at once for the slander, or you 
may dread the everlasting displeasure of her doting 
mother.” 

The Prince contritely declared his faith in my interest 
for all science, while 1, perceiving the drift of the conver- 
sation, blushed to my temples. Edith put up her fan 
with a pretty gesture of astonishment, and Durchlaucht 
remarked, slyly, that it was quite refreshing to see a young 
lady in such a glow over philosophv. 

“Blushing is a very unfortunate habit of mine,” I re- 
plied, choking a little ; “and I beg to assure you that it 
has no significance whatever.” 

“ Never mind, my pet,” said Edith. “ Blushing in a 
young girl is always sans consequence. We have vexed 
the child, Durchlaucht,” she added, and then dropped her 
voice to so low a key that the remainder of her speech 
was inaudible. This, of course, was a signal for me to 
retire, but I remained in their vicinity, and, in spite of 
myself, heard what further passed between them. 

“ I am under obligations to Fräulein Göttin for her 
confidence,” said the Prince. “ Without it I should hardly 
have known how to get at his request, since your hus- 
band is so unqualifiedly opposed to it.” 

“I wish the Count could be persuaded to give up the 
idea,” was the reply. “ But what can I do, a weak 
mother ?” 

“ Then I may hide behind you, most gracious Excel- 
lency, if the Minister is angry at my interference, — for 
he will suspect me, very naturally.” 

“ For heaven’s sake, Durchlaucht, do not disturb my 
domestic peace I I express no wish, — on the contrary, 1 
say again, it would be better if the young man were sent 
away. I know nothing, and desire to know nothing, of 
his intentions. My information has come through Carola: 


ELEONORE. 


165 


you know young girls are more confidential with each 
other than they are with their parents even, and in this 
way the secret has leaked out. Soltendorf would coolly 
reason about the matter, and tell me the child was too 
young, too inexperienced, and — and ” 

“ And her suitor perhaps too experienced,” suggested 
the Prince, smiling. 

Her brow darkened. “ You understand, Durchlaucht, 
I deny all !” 

“ I understand, your Excellency. The storm is to 
burst on the head of your obedient servant alone. My 
lofty patroness will, I hope, be satisfied with me.” 

I did not catch Edith’s reply, and, indeed, my ears had 
already been too sharp. With Carola’s assistance she 
had arranged this little farce to detain Count Hardeck in 
the city, and, as usual, seized the readiest means for carry- 
ing it into effect, never once reflecting how she was com- 
promising me thereby. 

Prince Durchlaucht was to use his influence in the 
interest of the supposed lovers, and, if possible, secure for 
the Count an appointment at the capital. My indigna- 
tion was aroused to the highest pitch by this discovery, 
but it was directed not so much ’against Edith (for I had 
come to look upon her as in a measure irresponsible) as 
Carola. A second time I must be the victim of her in- 
trigue, and what further awaited me, while we remained 
under the same roof, I dare not conjecture. The first 
thought was to accuse her directly to my father and call 
the old Prince as witness; but this was soon thrown 
aside. Edith would suffer too in such an exposure, and 
the reputation of my father’s wife was sacred to me. The 
sentimental flirtation of a young lady, and her desire to 
secure an admirer, were more venial than the same fault 
in a married woman acting against the will of her hus- 
band. So I resolved to wait, feel my way cautiously, 
and lay hold of the first opportunity to set matters right. 

This was not long in presenting itself. My father came 
in to dinner a few days after, looking sad and careworn. 
He scarcely tasted a mouthful at table, and when we re- 
turned to the parlor, threw himself into a chair before the 
fire and sat for a long time buried in thought. I drew 


166 


ELEONORE. 


my stool up by his side, and silently leaned my head 
against his shoulder. 

“What is this about Count Hardeck, my darling child?’’ 
he asked, fixing his eyes upon my face. “Is it true 
that his attentions are so pleasing to you ? There, I do 
not mean to scold you, Lora,” he added, seeing my face 
flush. “ Only 1 could have wished for more discretion 
on your part. Young girls must not carry their hearts 
on their sleeve, — a little diplomacy is necessary in such 
things.” 

It took me a few moments to collect myself, but I spoke 
then with decision : “ It is not true, my father. I never 
told any one that his attentions pleased me, or that I was 
particularly interested in him, and I do not see how it 
could be inferred.” 

He looked relieved. “ Has no one ever spoken to you 
of this preference, or teased you about him, Lora?” 

“ Only Prince Durchlaucht; and Carola had the imperti- 
nent audacity to suggest it to him.” 

“ Ah, Carola I” he repeated, with an emphatic nod. 

“ Yes, papa. I have told you how much I dislike this 
girl, but you do not know how much reason I have for 
it. My aunt would have sent her away at once if your 
letter had not forbidden it. But here she is as if nothing 
had happened, and I must not only be tormented by the 
sight of her, but quietly look on while she shapes new 
plans for my disgrace.” 

“ You are excited, Lora,” he replied, tenderly stroking 
my hair; “but if this Carola is really so intolerable to 
you, she shall go.” 

“ Are you harping on the old string, little Ella ?” 
chimed in Edith’s voice. “ Have you Considered the 
consequences of your stern justice ? I could not sleep 
nights, if I should, send away a poor, dependent creature 
under such a harsh sentence. I do not comprehend this 
whim of your soft heart.” 

In any other mood I should have laughed at the “poor, 
dependent creature,” but now tears of anger sprang to my 
eyes, and I was about returning a sharp reply, when she 
took hold of my arm, and, perfectly regardless of my ex- 
cited state of mind, said, gayly, “Let me come there. 


ELEONORE. 


167 


little one. I want to coax this gruff father into a better 
humor. Have you moped enough, you ugly old fellow ? 
Must we pay for it when other people vex you ? I should 
like to know if we haven’t a right to expect a pleasant 
face when we do so much to please our lord and master.” 

My father was beguiled by her arts, and the troubles 
of his child gave him no further concern. Once more I 
suffered defeat af the very moment of victory. ,But I did 
not feel disposed to let the matter rest this time, and when 
he was gone I opened the subject again. 

“You would not let me finish what I was telling my 
father about Carola, mamma, and so I appeal to you. I 
shall ” 

“Child, why do you bring that up to-day ?” she ex- 
claimed, peevishly. “ I think we have had enough that is 
disagreeable.” • 

“ I can say that with truth,” I replied ; “ for the burden 
of it has been laid upon me, — for all of which I have to 
thank Carola. The report that I am in love with Count 
Hardeck has been circulated by her, and ” 

“ What do you mean, child ?” she asked, with a slight 
yawn. 

“You know very well what I nieaii ; and I solemnly 
swear, if Carola is not immediately dismissed, if my 
reputation is imperiled again through her, I will tell my 
father all, here, in your presence, and in the presence of 
the servants. I will tell him that you ” 

She laid her hand heavily on my shoulder. “ Have 
you been drinking wine, Ella, or are you crazy ?” said 
she, softly ; but in her voice there vibrated a something 
which made me shudder. “We cannot settle this now, 
as you yourself must see, and it is well I have no more 
time to spare.” Then, playfully tapping my cheek with 
her fan, — “ Go to your room and compose yourself, my 
dear, and, when your agitation has subsided, come, like a 
good child, and beg your indulgent mamma’s forgiveness. 
Perhaps she can persuade you then that it is a little selfish 
to insist upon the removal of a person who is useful to 
her, and who, strictly speaking, is her companion, not her 
daughter’s.” 

She waved her hand and glided from the room, while 


168 


ELEONORE. 


I gazed after her as motionless as I had listened to her 
words. To be rebuked for selfishness in the very hour of 
my magnanimous sacrifice, — that was more than I could 
bear; and, throwing myself upon the sofa, I burst into 
tears. It seemed to me I could not see company that 
evening, so I sent to Edith requesting her to excuse my 
absence ; but the messenger returned with a peremptory 
order for me to come down at once, as my presence was 
absolutely indispensable. My first impulse was to act 
ray own pleasure ; but I had just learned the folly of such 
attempts, so I bathed my swollen eyes, bade Nannie re- 
arrange my hair, and obeyed. My face confirmed the 
plea of headache by which I accounted for my late ap- 
pearance, and no further comments were made. Count 
Hardeck’s transfer from the Florence embassy to the De- 
partment of Foreign Affairs was the universal to})ic of 
conversation, and the intelligence was repeated to me as 
if I had some special interest in the change. The Count 
himself did not look very happy over it. His counte- 
nance, at all times strikingly pale, was perfectly bloodless, 
and he seemed grave and troubled. I studiously avoided 
him the whole evening, but, when he took my hand to say 
“ good-night,” his dark eyes rested upon my face with a 
steady, searching look, and he said, in an under-tone, “ I 
see it is not a headache that makes you so pale and dis- 
pirited. Our acquaintance now does not warrant the 
request that you will look upon me as your friend : some 
time, however, I hope to gain your confidence and esteem, 
and then I shall have the right to help you.” 

He was gone before I could reply to this singular 
speech ; but I puzzled over it for a long time. Had he a 
suspicion, or was he privy to the false game in which I 
played the puppet, and did he intend to expiate the offense 
by using his influence over Edith to my advantage ? 
How could he have spoken of the esteem he hoped to 
win from me, if such were the case ? It was strange 
that, notwithstanding his resemblance to Kollner, and 
the attempt made to force him upon my regard (circum- 
stances quite sufficient to make me utterly detest him), 
I felt a strong interest in Count Hardeck. Not that my 
heart was at all touched by him ; it was rather that kind 


ELEONORE. 


169 


of interest which the study of some abstruse science or 
difficult problem affords. Those symmetrical, finely-cut 
features were like the splendid clasp of a sealed book, 
and I watched curiously for the slightest revelation of 
the inner man. The ruling characteristic, both of face and 
manner, with him, was indifference. He was indifferent 
to everything that had happened to him, or that 
might happen hereafter ; indifierent as to where he was, 
and who was with him ; indifferent as to the course of 
conduct he pursued, and its consequences ; indifferent 
to the splendid property he inherited, and the position 
he occupied. At least, so it would seem. But his actions 
contradicted all this; for, to say nothing of his constant 
attendance upon society, which proved that its stimulus 
was indispensable to him, he was said to be an indus- 
trious, even arduous worker, and a brilliant career was 
prophesied for him. His words to me furnished an ex- 
ample of this contradiction. He had spoken eagerly of 
gaining my esteem, — he, to whom, as one would judge, of 
all indifferent things the opinion of others was the most 
indifferent. For a moment the uninterested eyes had 
brightened, and the pale, cold features shone with life 
and animation. 

His offer of friendship reminded me of another, made 
in the dull twilight by the roadside, and I smiled at the 
contrast between the two. The melancholy charm of that 
autumn evening was as far removed from the glare and 
flash of these crowded rooms, as was my companion 
then, the simple, true man of nature, from this elegant, 
perfumed, blase creature of the world. The latter un- 
questionabl}^ bore off’ the palm in style and figure, but 
the former possessed a soul, large, comprehensive, and 
aspiring; the one stooped to raise those around him to 
his own high level; the other looked down with pitying 
contempt upon his inferiors. The friendship of Walden- 
stein was a foundation to build upon with confidence, 
that of Hardeck a mysterious, intangible object waving 
before you in the air, which might be real, and might 
turn out a cruel jest at the simple faith of him wlio 
trusted it. I should never have dreamed of testing this 
last proffer, while Waldenstein’s words were to me an 
H 15 


no 


ELEONORE. 


anchor of deliverance, upon which 1 could lay hold in 
distress. Ah, why was he so far away now ? Why did 
he not come to help me ? 

I made several more attempts to renew the visits to my 
father’s office, but each time, at the sound of my footsteps, 
a door near by would open, and an obsequious servant 
appear to inform me that his Excellency was busy; and 
finally I gave up trying. When I met him in Edith’s 
rooms, he was either too weary to talk much, or else his 
eyes and ears were for her alone. lie was still kind and 
even affectionate towards me, but gradually I became 
conscious of a certain reserve and solicitude mingled with 
this, and his occasional caresses were more the expression 
of forgiving condescension than of hearty paternal joy. 
All this I had to receive without a word, for I neither 
knew what evil had been said of me, nor was I in a con- 
dition to disprove it. Carola’s position as Edith’s com- 
panion was now established in the household and I had 
no excuse for insisting upon her removal, although her 
presence in that capacity was no less dangerous to me. 
I treated her, both in the family and in public, with the 
most dignified coolness (there should be no grounds for 
again supposing us on confidential terms), and when op- 
portunity offered I did not scruple to declare my aversion 
to her. 

I had a small circle of friends, “ insipid, imbecile 
people,” of course, but still very agreeable to me. Among 
them the Countess, or, as I called her now. Aunt Fran- 
cisca, occupied a prominent place. Heaven had richly 
compensated this woman for personal defects, in the 
rarest graces of spirit. Her cheerfulness was inexhaust- 
ible, and no one could be heavy-hearted where she was. 
Although alone in the world, and prevented by her lame- 
ness from mingling much in its pleasures, she never com- 
plained, and the only trace left upon her nature by 
suffering and misfortune was a quickened sympathy for 
the sorrows of others. Our relationship drew us together 
at first, and afterwards, I think, a suspicion of my un- 
happy lot made h r particularly attentive to me. She 
was not often at our receptions, and never a welcome 
guest to the fair hostess, but my heart always gave a 


ELEONORE. 


m 


bound when she entered, and I soon contrived to get near 
her. 

Professor Dortenbach, who took Francisca’s partiality 
for me as good reason for cultivating my acquaintance, 
frequently honored me by his conversation, stimulating 
and encouraging by judicious criticisms and commenda- 
tion my efforts to supply the deficiencies of a superficial 
education. As I had to be entirely self-dependent in my 
investigations, I gained more real mental discipline in 
this way than ever came to me through school. The 
Professor rarely talked profoundly. He liked a simple, 
quiet chat best, when he could fold his hands over his 
knee and ramble on, with a little prompting now and 
then, as long as any one would listen. It is only shallow 
people who expect an author or man of letters to be 
always a full-charged battery, darting flashes of wit, 
reason, and fancy on all sides. For the disposal of such 
ammunition he has his clean, white paper. In society 
he ought not to give out, but take in, load his intellectual 
guns afresh, and shoot them afterwards, when they have 
been properly mounted and carefully aimed. 

The Prince occasionally joined our party, and, seeing 
me there under more favorable circumstances, displayed 
increasing admiration and regard for me. He even went so 
far as to intimate, very cautiously, that his services were 
at my command whenever I should n quire. 

But it was not old people alone that Aunt Francisca 
gathered around her. She exercised a great influence 
upon the young of both sexes, and teased, ridiculed, or 
scolded them, as the case might be. The latter was 
usually Count Hardeck’s fate ; and he bore it most 
patiently. * 

“We don’t need you here, Rudolph,” said she to him, 
one evening. “ Take yourself away.” 

“I cannot think of doing so. Aunt Francisca,” was 
the cool reply. “ It pleases me to remain.” He gave her 
this familiar title almost always, — whether from any con- 
nection between the families, or from their long acquaint- 
ance, I do not know. 

“But you do not please me, Rudolph,” she rejoined. 
“When I think of the angel-face of the little boy I once 


112 


ELEONORE. 


held on my lap, it nearly breaks my heart to see you 
thus.” 

The Count rested his arm upon the table, and, dropping 
his head upon his hand, so as to look the speaker full in 
the face, asked, quietly, “ Did you expect me to grow up 
an angel, Auut Francisca?” 

“ I expected to see you a good man, and not a ” 

She hesitated, and Hardeck completed the sentence. 

“And not a villain: that must be your conclusion, ac- 
cording to the rules of logic. Our conversation grows 
interesting. Won’t you read me a page from the register 
of my sins, or do you pronounce me in toto ripe for the 
infernal regions ?” 

“ You steal my weapons, Rudolph ; but it’s of no use. 
I give up the contest. When they told me of your actions 

in Florence, I defended you, and blamed well, I need 

not say whom.” 

“ AVhy do you not continue this amiable course, aunt ?” 
he inquired, with perfect composure. 

“ Because there is not the shadow of a pretext for it; 
because my own eyes and ears ” 

“As 1 perceive, see and hear falsely,” said he, inter- 
rupting her again. “ I confess to every sin which you in 
your benevolence may ascribe to me. Aunt Francisca,” 
he continued, with a touch of excitement that astonished 
me ; “ but you must allow me, in return, to accuse you 
of great short-sightedness, if you believe that you have 
any proofs of my guilt.” 

The Countess looked into his face inquiringly, but 
every trace of emotion had fled from it. “ But, Rudolph, 
diplomatist though you are, you will not take us com- 
mon people for such — it doesn’t sound well, but I shall 
say it — such dumb-heads that we cannot see through your 
game ?” 

“Yes, aunt: or, to soften your appellation, I will say, 
very artless, incredulous people, easily imposed upon. 
Probability does not make truth. Whoever is the gainer 
by a crime is generally held to be the doer of it, but never 
so judged until after the trial.” 

Again the old lady regarded him with amazement. 
“You make my head whirl, Rudolph I But it is a rule. 


ELEONORE. 


173 


if not of diplomacy, of common sense, that a man cannot 
enter the service of fiends, without forfeiting their as- 
sistance.’^ 

“ You utter a great truth. Aunt Francisca, but not one 
new to me, by any means.” 

“Well, in the name of all the fiends, what are’you 
after now, Rudolph ?” 

“ Happiness, if it is to be had,” he replied, in a low 
tone. 

“ God help us !” cried Francisca, breathless with horror. 
“ I told you you would set fire to the house over our 
heads ; and whether you do it heedlessly or by design, 
it’s all the same to those inside. If you think I will move 
a finger to help you win your game, however, you are 
greatly mistaken. On the contrary, I will discharge my 
duty as scarecrow most faithfully.” 

“I am convinced of that. Aunt Francisca,” laughed 
the Count,; “ and I reckon a great deal on this zealous 
opposition. It is, in fact, my sole hope ; otherwise ” 

“ Leave me in peace, Rudolph, and don’t come where 
I am again. There is no comfort in sitting on a powder- 
sack.” And she limped away as fast as possible. 

The above conversation was somewhat enigmatical to 
me, and evidently not intended for my ears, but I had no 
doubt that the “ game” alluded to concerned me. Then I 
recollected the expression of surprise that had sometimes 
overspread Count Hardeck’s features when Edith referred 
to his preference for me; and, coupling this to the vindica- 
tion of himself which I had just overheard, I concluded 
that the whole plot was of the latter’s contrivance. She 
had entrapped him by the promise of securing the ap- 
pointment, and not until it was done did he know in 
what way her influence had been exerted. But I still 
held the opinion that Edith was not accountable for all 
the seeming wickedness of her actions, and even in this 
case found her thoughtless selfishness a suflQcient apology 
fur the offense. 


15 * 


ELEONORE. 


lU 


xy. 

I PASSED a miserable night, and awoke next morning 
unrefreshed and out of spirits. Before I was dressed, a 
message came for me to go to Edith. Something un- 
usual must have happened to induce such a summons, 
and I obeyed with an ugly foreboding of mischief. I had 
never been in her sleeping-room, and the rare beauty of 
its appointments impressed me greatly. The tapestry 
was of dark-blue silk, and harmonized finely with the oak- 
grained frame-work of the furniture, while the toilet of 
frosted silver with its delicately carved appurtenances 
might have been intended for a fairy, it was so exquisitely 
dainty. The heavy curtains were closed, filling the 
apartment with a pale moonlight, and the sun twinkled 
here and there through the thick drapery, like stars in a 
deep sky. Softened still more by the cloud of blue silk 
around the bed, this magic light fell upon Edith, giving 
her a wonderfully ethereal look. As she lay there with 
her golden hair rippling over the pillow, she seemed some- 
thing unreal, supernatural, and I stopped, spell-bound, in 
the middle of the room. 

“ Come here, you foolish child. Why do you hesitate 
she exclaimed. 

I went up to the bed, and sat down where she directed. 

Good-morning, my little Ella,” she continued. “ You 
look like a captured bird. What has come over you?” 

“ I am bewildered by this room, Edith, and still more 
by your fascinating appearance,” I replied. 

“ You little flatterer I Why have you never been here 
before to enjoy it?” 

As the only reason I could give was that she had never 
asked me to Come, I said nothing. 

“ Have you seen papa this morning?” she continued, 
without waiting for an answer. 

“No; you know I cannot see him any more in the 
morning,” said I, surprised at the question. 

“Is he so inexorable to his little daughter? — mamma 
will have to come to her rescue again. What will you 
give me, Ella, if I open the closed doors ?” 


ELEONORE. 1'75 

I did not know how to take her words, and so answered, 
rather hesitatingly, “My warmest tlianks, mamma.” 

“Well, bring them to me on your knees,” said she, 
pointing to the floor. 

I sank upon the soft Smyrna carpet by her side, and, 
throwing her arm around my neck, she drew me fondly 
to her. “ I love you so much, my sweet little Ella, that 
I naturally expect something in return. Your father is 
not very busy this morning: go to him, and, after you 
have smoothed away all his care, give him this package, 
and beg him not to hurt poor mamma by a refusal.” 

She put her hand under the pillow, and produced a 
little bundle of papers which she pressed into my hand. 
Although there was nothing visible, I guessed at once 
what it contained. 

“Manage wisely now, my dear,” she continued, “and 
don’t come away until he says yes. Remember, this is 
the first thing 1 have ever asked you to do for me, and I 
shall measure your love by the result. Those silly people 
in Florence, instead of sending their bills when we left, 
have kept them until now, and I had forgotten all about 
them. Now go, my little one I I feel so exhausted, and 
must rest a little while longer.” 

She drew the blue curtains together, shutting herself 
away from the world outside, and banishing me from this 
realm of enchantment. But the brilliant dust upon the 
butterfly’s wings had been disturbed, and I could not help 
thinking how pretty it was in stories to have the fairies 
bring gifts instead of seek them, and to make the witches, 
who did the latter, ugly and misshapen, so that one might 
know what to expect when they appeared. 

No Cerberus guarded my father’s door this time. As 
I spoke his name, he looked up with a faint smile, and 
laid aside his wwk. 

“ How comes it, Lora, that I see you this morning ? 
You gave up this habit long ago.” 

“ I was compelled to give it up, as you know, papa,” I 
replied, somewhat disconcerted by this ungracious re- 
ception. 

“ Yes, yes ; Edith will even affect the cruel step- 
mother to screen her little daughter’s indolence. But 


176 


ELEONORE. 


what brings you ? — another request of some kind, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ You have guessed it, papa,” I answered, with a forced 
laugh. “ I come with a large request, but it is for Edith 
this time, not myself.” 

“ What I is the world turning upside down?” he ex- 
claimed, in amazement. “ Well, out with itl What is the 
matter ?” 

“ Not yet, papal do not think I shall deliver her into 
vour hands without security. You must say ‘yes’ before 
I let you into the secret.” 

He laughed. “ You women are all alike, young and 
old. You always trifle when you ought to be serious, 
and vice versa. But I might as well promise, I suppose, 
since your feminine logic would never convince me, and 
I shall be talked into it at last, any way. I must tell you 
first, however, my little Lora, how rejoiced I am that 
you have come to appreciate Edith’s love for you. This 
errand in her behalf gratifies me exceedingly.” 

I took the papers from my pocket and handed them to 
him, as I did so, apologizing for Edith’s neglect in a 
flourish of words that astonished myself. He received 
them without a word, cut the string hastily, and began 
to examine the separate scores. 

“ Incredible ! most incredible !” he exclaimed, at last, 
throwing them aside and springing to his feet. “I paid 
myself, at the very last moment, three thousand francs 
for her. She gave me her word, too, and I believed her!” 

My eyes turned curiously upon the sheets scattered 
before me. Three thousand francs 1 That was a fortune 
to me, and yet it did not cover Edith’s indebtedness. 
What could such bills be for? I took up one paper after 
the other, and was utterly confounded by the amount and 
the items charged. 

“ It is unnecessary for you to look them over,” said my 
father, authoritatively. “ You have played your part ex- 
c<dlently, and made me forty thousand francs poorer by 
t he harmless joke. You are a worthy pupil of your mother, 
and if you continue in this way, — both of you, — there will 
soon be nothing left. It all comes from this devotion to 
outside show, with never a thought or inclination for any- 


ELEONORE. 


in 


thing above and beyond. I hoped for something better 
in you, Lora, — an elevation of mind and taste that would 
lead you to seek intellectual and spiritual pleasures, in- 
stead of having your head eternally filled with laces, silks, 
and gewgaws. Look around you in the world, and see the 
misery, the want, scattered everywhere, and then grow 
pale at the thousands you so recklessly squander. This 
demon of vanity, which possesses you all and blinds you 
so that you cannot tell right from wrong, is the curse of 
the earth. Vain, frivolous, pleasure-seeking. — these are 
not harsh-sounding epithets ; and yet the darkest passions 
of the human breast do not lead more surely into the pitfall 
of crime than this trinity of petty weaknesses. The sight 
of a defenseless being struggling amid the mad waves 
of the ocean is sublime as well as terrible ; and a man 
of heroic powers and large capacities brought to ruin 
through the very extravagancies of his noble nature, ex- 
cites the most profound pity along with condemnation : we 
mourn the waste of so much strength. But to be drowned 
in a softly-murmuring stream of bubbling wantonness, 
sparkling gayety, and sweet flatteries, — drowned because 
one ” 

He stopped suddenly, — perhaps it occurred to him that 
his words were misdirected : then, glancing at my simple 
morning dress of purple flannel, continued more quietly : 
“ You are plainly dressed, Lora : did you select your cos- 
tume with reference to the occasion 

“ I have worn this for a week, papa, and I have nothing 
handsomer.” 

He looked at me steadily. “ I may have done you 
wrong, Lora; but let what you have heard be a warning 
to you not to sell yourself to the devil through dress, and 
never again undertake such an errand for Edith. I shall 
tell her myself that I have strictly forbidden your inter- 
ference again. Poor child I” he added, with a sigh, “ this 
robs you. My small property has long ago gone the same 
way, and the splendid income of the estate intrusted to 
me cannot cover these demands. Edith knows tliis, and 
knows, too, that her influence would be powerless to make 
me touch one cent that belonged to you.” 

I was surprised to hear my father judge his wife so 
H* 


178 


ELEONORE. 


harshly and yet with so much justice. Experience has 
since taught me that, in the strife which love often brings 
between head and heart, the greater the subjection of the 
former, the clearer and more rationally it acts when the 
yoke is occasionally lifted. Samson knew of Delilah’s 
treachery, but yet she was his master, and the story is 
forever being repeated. Cupid hoodwinks the giant while 
his strength is shorn, and will do so until giants prefer 
light to darkness and safety to soft bandages. Had I un- 
derstood this at the time, it would have solved many a 
hard problem and saved me many an unhappy hour. 

My father seemed to feel that he had not treated me 
kindly, and, taking my hand, he said, with more tender- 
ness, “ You have asked so much for Edith, Lora, that it 
is only right that you have something yourself : tell me, 
frankly, how I can gratify you.” 

I did not hesitate an instant for a reply, — the wish had 
long been laid away, waiting for a favorable moment to 
see the day : “ I want your permission, dear papa, to see 
Aunt Francisca more frequently. I should like to have 
her visit me, and ” 

“But, my child, that is not what I mean,” interrupted 
he. “ Your intimacy with the Countess requires no special 
permission.” 

“Yes, it does, papa. Edith is prejudiced against her, 
and does not like it when I am with her.” 

A smile brightened his face. “Edith is a little jealous 
witch, and wants everybody to herself. She is right to a 
certain extent, however : her society ought to satisfy 
you.” 

“ So it might, if I could have it ; but I never see my 
beautiful mamma except at meals and in the evening, 
when, of course, I cannot say much to her.” 

“ How is that possible, Lora ?” he asked, knitting his 
brows. 

“ Easily,” I replied. “ The forenoons she spends alone 
in her room ; and after breakfast there are so many en- 
gagements of various kinds that I am forgotten. Besides, 
Carola is here, and ” 

He silenced me by a wave of the hand : “ Have you 
really been lonely here, my child ?” 


ELEONORE. 


n9 

“ Very lonely, papa,” I answered ; and the tears sprang 
to my eyes. “ For a week I have been shut up in iny 
room all the time, as I could not go out alone, and there 
was no one to accompany me.” 

My father covered his face. “ And this is the home I 
give my child,” said he, bitterly, — “the child of my lost 
Lora ?” 

“ I am not unhappy, dear father,” I added, sobbing in 
spite of myself. “ Edith is always kind, and if I can see 
Aunt Prancisca sometimes I shall be quite contented.” 

“ I will make arrangements for that, my child ; and if 
besides you would like a companion of.your own age, make 
your own choice.” 

“ Aunt Francisca is enough, thank you, dear father ;” 
and I hastened to say “ good-by,” knowing that Edith 
would be impatient at my delay. 

I found her sitting in her cabinet, wrapped in a most 
elegant robe de chamhre, but apparently in no very 
enviable state of mind. Her lips twitched nervously as 
I approached, and the ha’ud she extended to me was as 
cold as ice. 

“ Well, my dear, are you back ? You must have found 
something very interesting to talk about, you stayed so 
long.” 

“ I do not know whether you could call the frightful 
lecture that fell upon my innocent head very interesting,” 
I replied, gayly. 

“ Take it to heart, child : it may do you good. But 
what else ?” 

“The payment of the bills, and a positive command 
never to bring to my father anything of the kind again.” 

“ Of course, you little fool ; that is the natural con- 
clusion of the play. You have shown yourself a skillful 
diplomatist, and your future husband will be proud of 
you. Now go 1” And she dismissed me with a sweet • 
smile. 

When I went to her parlor before dinner, I found my 
father there, and the lady herself, in a most disagreeable 
humor. 

“ If you reward my kindness in opening the way to 
your father by slandering me, Ella, I shall be careful 


180 


ELEONORE. 


how I repeat the favor,” said she, with ill-concealed 
anger. 

“ Slander you, mamma !” I stammered. 

“ Yes ! Did you not complain of being alone, and request 
a companion ? To say nothing of your persistent refusal of 
Carola’s society, am I not here always, and glad to have 
you with me? I sent for you yesterday, to drive with 
me, and you did not even deign to return an answer.” 

“ The message was not delivered, mamma.” 

“ It was your stupid maid’s fault, then. As usual, I 
must suffer by your willfulness.” 

My father’s head was still in the ascendency. Samson 
would not have betrayed his secret under such circum- 
stances. “What is the use of this parley, Edith?” he 
asked, sternly. “ Lora likes Francisca, she can learu 
nothing but good with her, and I am entirely willing she 
should act her own pleasure.” 

“ I hope you will not regret it, my dear ; that is all. 
One’s youthful ideal seldom appears to later years with- 
out a flaw. You must know*, Ella, that Francisca was 
at one time desperately in love with your father, and 
indulged a hope of being his wife, in spite of her ugliness 
and ill breeding, — which certainly did not show remark- 
able discernment. When she found this could not be, she 
adopted the role of tutelar saint, and tried to dissuade 
him from the madness of a second marriage ; but you see, 
pet, men like their own way, and here I am.” 

When Jupiter is angry, his thunderbolts may be turned 
even against Semele. My father was thoroughly aroused 
by this speech, and with difficulty controlled himself for a 
reply. “ You forget to whom you are speaking, Edith. 
This is not a subject to be discussed before my child, and 
I trust you will never mention it again. I esteem and love 
Francisca as a sister; and any one who knows her, the 
afflictions and trials that have brought her to those 
heights of spiritual repose upon which she dwells, can 
but admire her.” 

The change wrought in my life by this permission to visit 
the Countess Francisca was most delightful. I ceased 
to be a prisoner in a suite of splendid apartments, and 
could once more enjoy the fresh air and sunlight. A 


ELEONORE. 


181 


drive with her in the park was one of my choicest 
pleasures, marred only by the dread I always experienced 
of meeting Edith. The first time this happened, the latter 
administered to me, on my return, a severe reproof for 
the lack of consideration which I showed in thus reveal- 
ing to the world my want of affection towards her, and 
afterwards we took care to keep out of her way. 

It was a beautiful day in the beginning of February, 
and all the city seemed enticed out-of-doors by the hint 
of spring which lurked in the soft air and clear pene- 
trating sunshine. The avenues and by-paths were alive 
with people, and we were compelled to form a part of the 
crowd, instead of having our usual quiet ride. But a more 
immediate intrusion upon our solitude was the appear- 
ance of Count Hardeck, whom I had seen at a little 
distance with Edith only a few minutes before. He 
came up behind us, aud, guiding his horse to Franciscans 
side, asked permission to remain. 

“No, Rudolph; you cannot stay an instant !’’ cried the 
old lady. “ Our carriage is not intended for outriders.” 

“Perhaps that inhospitable peculiarity belongs only 
to your side,” he replied, laughing, and crossed over to 
me. 

“ You are an impertinent fellow, Rudolph ; hut I shall 
get rid of you this time. We are going to stop here for 
a little walk, and we don’t want that black horse of yours 
along : so begone with him.” 

“ How can you suspect me of being so ungallant. Aunt 
Fraucisca?” said he, dismounting, and called to his groom 
to take charge of the horse. “ Allow me to offer you the 
support of my arm.” 

“ Heaven help me, Rudolph !” she exclaimed, quite 
bewildered by his persistency. “Your cunning exceeds 
that of Satan himself, for you weave your net out of 
nothing, as the spider does around the poor flies.” 

“ Since it has drawn you into its meshes, aunt, the 
comparison can only be a flattering one to me,” rejoined 
the young man, and, placing her hand upon his arm, he 
led her over the rough ground with a respectful tender- 
ness that surprised me. In fact, he appeared every way 
like another man, — so frank and natural, so free from 

16 


182 


ELEONORE. 


that air of ennui and indifference which he ordinarily 
wore, that I could not help thinking how delightful it 
would be were he always thus. Aunt Franciscans an- 
noyance was soon dissipated, and our walk proved a 
much longer one than she had at first intended. 

“Now be reasonable, Rudolph, and leave us in peace,” 
she said, imploringly, as the Count closed the door of the 
carriage. “ You have seen what is to be gained by being 
an obedient child. 

“ I am always obedient when it accords with my incli- 
nations,” he replied, and graciously bade us adieu. 

“ Why did you call Count Hardeck an ‘ obedient 
child,’ Aunt Francisca?” I asked, as he disappeared. 

“ Don’t put me in a flutter, Lora,” she replied. “ You 
need not trouble your head about this interesting Count; 
he is not as attractive as he appears sometimes.” 

“ I suppose your drive to-day sent you into the seventh 
heaven, my dear,” said Edith, when I saw her after- 
wards. There were guests expected to dinner that day, 
and she was dressed most exquisitely. The heavy blue 
brocade and point lace were in fit keeping with the mag- 
nificent pearls that adorned her fair neck and brow, and 
the tout-ensemble set off her delicate beauty to the great- 
est advantage. I had become resigned to admiring my 
jewels in this way, since there seemed no prospect of my 
ever seeing them elsewhere. I had reminded her of the 
trust, as she requested, but it was not convenient “just 
then,” and probably never would be. “ Now, confess,” 
she continued, fixing her large blue eyes upon my face, 
“ how long did your handsome cavalier stay with you ?” 

I was puzzled how to answer this question, and so re- 
plied, evasively, that Francisca was vexed at his intrud- 
ing himself upon us at all. 

“ I presume so,” said she, frowning. “ That old 
woman hates to have any one but herself the object of 
attention. But this could have no influence upon Ru- 
dolph. He is not generally faint-hearted.” 

“ Oh, none at all,” I answered, wondering a little at 
this familiar mention of Count Hardeck. 

“ He was very devoted, then, I infer ?” she continued. 
“ Quick, Ella, tell me what he said.” 


ELEONORE, 


183 


“ Nothing especial,” I replied. “ He was very enter- 
taining, and, for the first time in our acquaintance, with- 
out his icy cloak of reserve.” 

“ Ah, he has gone so far as that, has he ? It must 
have required considerable exertion to carry on a con- 
versation amid the rumbling of all those carriages.” 

“ We walked a part of the time,” I replied. 

“And Rudolph with you?” 

“ Yes; he supported Aunt Francisca.” 

“Really, how gallant!” she exclaimed, sarcastically; 
and then her eyelids drooped wearily, as if she were 
tired of the subject; but her fingers began to play nerv- 
ously with the jeweled fan which she held in her hands, 
and presently I saw her tearing it deliberately in pieces. 

“Ob, mamma, your pretty fan I” I exclaimed; “it is 
all spoilt.” 

She started, seemingly unconscious of the mischief 
done, looked at the pieces, and then tossed them into the 
fire. “ I am glad there is nothing left of it. Those 
stupid shepherds, with an everlasting smirk upon their 
faces, always did seem silly to me. Ask my maid to 
give you another fan, Carola, and see that it matches my 
dress.” 

The latter had seized the tongs, and was picking out 
the fragments from, the glowing coals. “ You forget. 
Excellency, this is set with very costly stones,” said she, 
giving the half-charred remains into Edith’s hands. 

“ Say nothing more about it,” was the impatient an- 
swer. “ Keep the stones yourself, if you think them so 
valuable.” 

“ Many thanks. Excellency ; I shall put them to better 
uses than they have served.” And she hurried away to 
obtain for her generous mistress the desired substitute. 

This exhibition of feeling warned me to be cautious in 
mv intercourse with Count Hardeck, although I could 
not reconcile it with Edith’s previous conduct. She had 
rallied me upon his devotion when there was not a 
shadow of a pretext for so doing, and, from the first, had 
employed every artifice to bring us together. 

The Count’s manner, in the mean time, underwent no 
change. He was often with me, and, if I may judge from 


184 


ELEONORE. 


appearances, my society gave him pleasure; but his atten- 
tions did not overstep the bounds of friendly intercourse, 
and there was never a sign of anything like avowed 
courtship. Towards Edith, on the contrary, he was ex- 
tremely variable : sometimes appearing the passive slave 
of her ravishing loveliness, and, again, treating her with 
such coldness and hauteur that I wondered she did not 
punish him by withdrawing her favor entirely. From 
the absence of all jealousy on her part, I concluded that 
the efforts which she had put forth to detain the young 
man at the capital were stimulated merely by a desire 
to have her own way, and, now that the point was gained, 
she did not care what became of him. It was necessary, 
however, to free herself from any disagreeable entangle- 
ment in his affairs, and the easiest way to do this was to 
thrust him upon me. To fit the scene above related into 
this resolution of the matter, was not easy; but I did it 
by assuming that Francisca’s opposition to the plan was 
the cause of her disturbance. The latter laughed incred- 
ulously at this explanation, and said, in her queer way, — 

“ I should be proud of stirring up such a commotion in 
Edith’s breast. But you are not an adept in the study 
of mankind, dear Lora, if you think the lady threw her 
opals into the fire on my account. I told you, the first 
evening I saw you, that Hardeck was ' tabooed ’ for you, 
and I repeat it. Shun his society as much as you can, 
and take no notice of her, — that is the best advice I can 
give you.” 

But it did not work well. First in jest, then seriously, 
Edith reproved me for my strange behavior, and, when I 
persisted, accused me angrily of a lack of consideration 
towards one of her choicest friends. Francisca was evi- 
dently wrong. So I went back to my former opinion, 
laid aside the reserve I had assumed, and allowed things 
to take their own course. My regard for the Count 
steadily increased, and had it not been for the constant 
surveillance to which we were subjected, our relation 
would have been the source of no little comfort to me. 
He was so clear-sighted and self-contained that it gave 
me a feeling of security almost akin to trust, and which 
in time might have developed into something warmer if 


ELEONORE. 


185 


' it had continued. But an event occurred that startled 

I me from this repose and roused me to an earnest prenez 

garde.''^ 

This warning came from my little Nannie. The little 
maiden had grown out of her country ways quickly 
enough, and with surprising aptness had taken up the 
duties of her new position, so that now the most exacting 
person could find no fault with her services. But she gave 
me a good deal of anxiety through her love of dress, and 
I read her many a lecture upon the subject. The poor 
Inspector was almost forgotten, or, at least, was suffering 
an eclipse from other admirers. His first rival was the 
Herr Yalet,-* whose elegancies and excellencies Nannie 
was never weary of celebrating. But 1 put a decided 
stop to his wooing, for two reasons : he was thoroughly 
committed to Edith’s service, and, again, it filled me with 
a sort of righteous indignation to see the honest Wehr- 
man’s place usurped by such a popinjay. One night I 
came to my room tired as usual, and found Nannie 
! awaiting me there in a state of the greatest excitement. 

Supposing it was a fresh quarrel with some of the at- 
' tendants (for she lived upon a genuine war footing with 
I every one in the house but me), I inquired carelessly what 
[ had happened. Instead of the violent burst of tears that 
■ generally followed this question, she gave a quick glance 
S around the room to assure herself that we were alone, 

[ and then, coming up close to me, whispered, “ I am 
I afraid they are going to run away with you again, Frau- 
I lein Lora!” 

I looked at her for a moment, hardly knowing whether 
' to laugh or be frightened. “ Nonsense, Nannie !” said I, 
I at last. * “ Who would attempt that here ?” 

[ “ Who! — who but Count Hardeck, to be sure?” 

I The matter now assumed a serious aspect, and, taking 
j hold of her arm, I asked, sternly, “ What do you mean, 

I Nannie ? What put such a thing in your head ?” 

I Slie ]>ut up her lips. “ My lady scolds whenever I open 
my mouth; but I can do my duty, if I’m not as old and 
ugly as Martin.” 

I “ What do you know of Count Hardeck ?” said I, more 
gently. “Have you ever seen him, Nannie?” 

16 * 


186 


ELEONORE. 


“No; but I’m sure it was he who went down the 
little stairway this evening.” 

“ It could not have been, for the Count was with me 
in the drawing-rooms until a few moments ago.” 

“ That may be too, my lady 1 Fräulein Carola was 
there, I suppose, all the evening, but between dinner and 
the soiree there is plenty of time to let young men into 
the bouse.” 

“Carola has something to do with it, then?” I ex- 
claimed, now seriously alarmed. 

“ Of course she’s around if there’s any mischief brew- 
ing,” was the reply. “ If it hadn’t been for that, there 
might a dozen men have gone down-stairs, and I shouldn’t 
have thought of it, for this Flora and the rest ” 

“ You saw Carola, then, in company with a gentleman, 
did you ?” 

“ Yes, my lady. He went down those stairs that lead 
to the side door. No one has a key to that but Madame 
Blanche, and it’s hardly ever used. The rooms along 
that hall are mostly empty, too, and so it’s not very well 
lighted until you come to the turn where Fräulein Carola 
lives, right next to her Excellency. Well, I happened to 

be in this part of the house ” 

Happened, Nannie ! Speak the truth, if you expect me 
to believe you.” 

“ I didn’t know as my lady would care about hearing 
it all. The head coachman, who is a real nice man, told 
me that the — the Herr Valet had a — a Uanason with that 
horrible thing of a maid, and that every night they had a 
randy — randiz ” 

“ Rendezvous, Nannie. Use words that you know,” 
said I, smiling. 

“ They see each other, then, every night in these vacant 
rooms. He told me if I wanted to hear what they said, 
I could hide in the cabinet between them. My lady 
knows that I don’t care any more for this valet than I 
do for the fire-screen, but he pretends he’s dead in love 
with me, and it would be awful if ” 

“ You were in the cabinet, Nannie ?” 

“ Yes, my lady. I got the key by stealth, but I guess 
the Frau Sultana suspected something, for she didn’t come. 


ELEONORE. 


187 


That deceitful prig of a rascal did, though. He slipped 
in, gave a soft whistle, and, when no one answered it, 
muttered, as he went out, ‘ Ah, that’s the tune to-day.’ 
I waited ever so long after that, and was just going to 
run away, when I saw Fräulein Carola coming along the 
hall, and a man with her. ‘ It is to be hoped you have 
sued for pardon and obtained it,’ said she, just as they 
passed me. 

“ ‘ That may be taken for granted,’ he replied, in a way 
that made me certain he was no lover of Fräulein Carola’s. 

“ ‘ Everything has turned out admirably,’ said she, ‘ and 
the plan can’t help succeed.’ 

“ ‘ To h 1 with the plan !’ the man cried, so loud that 

the Fräulein put up her hand to stop him. As good luck 
would have it, they stopped right there, and Fräulein 
Carola said again, softly, ‘You’re excited, dear Count, 
but that’s natural : the sacrifice is great, but so is the 
prize.’ 

; “ ‘ God knows it is I’ whispered the man, and his voice 

trembled awfully, — ‘so great that it will be my ruin. 
Come, let me out, or I shall suffocate,’ he said, louder. 
Then he started off so fast that she could hardly keep up 
with him. I heard her unlock the door, and saw her come 
back up-stairs. When it was all still, I ran out and came 
' right here to tell you about it; but you’d gone down- 
i stairs.” 

1 listened to Nannie’s story with a beating heart. True, 
there was no certainty that it had aught to do with me ; 
r but I inferred it, nevertheless, and was the more alarmed 
f because of the uncertainty. Another abduction did not 
[ look to me probable. Count Hardeck would never lend 
\ himself to so vile a scheme. He was not only too honor- 
i able, but there lacked sufficient motive in his case. It 
1 was more likely some adventurer, like Kolluer, employed 
j for my ruin. 1 asked Nannie again what had led her to 
I think it was Count Hardeck.” 

“ Fräulein Carola called him Count,” she replied. 

» “ But there are a great many counts. Why did you fix 

I upon him ?” 

I . “ Because everybody agrees, my lady, that you’re to 

I marry Count Hardeck.” 


188 


ELEONORE. 


Who do you mean by everybody, Nannie V 

“ Why, all the servants in the house, Fräulein Lora, — > 
I never see any one else.” 

“ Then the servants have decided to make a pair of 
Count Hardeck and myself?” 

“ Not only that, my lady I You never would listen to 
me, and so I could not tell you, but I’ve been angry 
enough to cry a great many times. The dreadful crea- 
tures say that my lady will have to marry the young 
Count.” 

“ Will ham to marry him ?” I repeated, in amazement. 
“ That is a strange idea I” 

“ My lady never could believe what good-for-nothing 
people there are under this roof: it’s like getting among 
a band of robbers. Before your faces they are all so fine, 
and bow and grin, then say things when you’re out of 
sight that would make your skin crawl. The old people 
at RiUtwitz, Heaven knows, were not wonderful, — that 
Martin was like a cross bear; but if anybody had dared 
to speak disrespectfully of his mistress, he’d have felt his 
fist soon enough.” 

I tried to stop Nannie’s gossip, but it was of no use: 
“You have no idea, Fräulein Lora, how things are squan- 
dered by these people, and, instead of being ashamed, 
they boast of it, and make fun of their master and mis- 
tress because they do not keep a strict eye on them. And 
the worst of them is that Blanche, who always acts as 
if she was better than the rest of us, as if she’d dropped 
down from the sky. Would you believe it, my lady, the 
head coachman told me — he’s a real good fellow — she’s 
the daughter of a common hostler, a German, too, and has 
no business to be called Blanche, if she was born in a Paris 
stable ? My father was a saddler, and if he’d lived, or my 
mother could have kept up the business, we should have 
been rich folks. For her to take on the airs of a queen 
and be called madame, while I’m only Nannie!” 

“ A lowly birth is no disgrace, Nannie,” said I, seriously. 
“ That is of God’s ordering, and ought never to influence 
your opinion of another.” 

“ I know that, my lady ; and it would be nothing against 
Blanche if she didn’t carry herself so loftily. She acts as 


ELEONORE. 


189 


if her Excellency was under her thumb completely, and 
danced whenever she whistled. I’m an eyesore to her, 
for she knows I don’t care anything about such airs. 
She says she’ll serve it out to me some day in a way 
that’ll make me open my e3^es, — so the master coachman 
told me, and he’s real kind always. But my lady should 
hear how they talk of the master: I mean the Herr Min- 
ister. A man who rules the whole country, and who must 
have some brains to do it, they speak of him as if he 
was only, — pardon, my lady, — yes, as if he was a weak- 
minded old man. When the master coachman — he’s an 
honest fellow — once tried to take his part, and scolded 
them for their wicked talk, they hooted at him ; and if his 
Excellency gives an order, they say ‘Never mind, if it’s 
only he.’ That miserable Herr Yalet asked me one day 
I if I had lived here so long and didn’t know that her 
I Excellency led her husband around by the nose. They 
I don’t dare say anything against my mistress before me, 
for they know I’d soon be in their hair, but I’ve found out 
that Fräulein Carola has more respect in the house than 
you. Weeks ago, they declared my lady would marry 
Count Hardeck whether she wanted to or not. I in- 
formed them, upon that, that you’d marry whom you 
pleased, and nobody could hinder you ; but this distin- 
guished lady of the stables, this Blanche, gave her head 
a toss and told me to mind my own business. She said 
you’d do what they wished, and nothing else. ‘They' 
means her Excellency and maid, I suppose. I grew aw- 
fully angry at this, and, if the bell hadn’t rung just then, 
we shouldf have had a regular fight. She hasn’t said any- 
thing more about it, but the rest talk as if it was a fixed 
thing. So, to-da}^ when Fräulein Carola called the strange 
man Count, and I heard him wish the plan in such a 
wicked place, I thought it must be a bad one, and that 
because my lady wouldn’t agree to the marriage they 
were going to carry her off.” 

This glimpse of life “below-stairs” affected me more 
than my pride was willing to admit. The opinion of 
servants is generally of little worth ; still, I was annoyed 
at finding such sharp critics where hitherto I had seen 
but a heterogeneous crowd of living machines. Such a 


190 


ELEONORE. 


glance, now and then, might be profitable to us all. We 
would learn by it how lightly we are weighed in the 
balances of our inferiors, and how much of the respect 
and homage paid to us is the result of outward con- 
straint alone. Genuine soul-reverence is not begotten of 
position or circumstance, and frequently reverses both. 
If the merchant were to overhear the evening conversa- 
tion of his clerks, the president to come unaware upon 
the honest sentiments of his constituents, the prince or 
general to hear in what light he is regarded by his sub- 
alterns, — each and all would probably be as little flattered 
by the discovery as I was by this gossip of my maid. 
But my thoughts soon reverted to myself. Edith wished 
me to marry the Count, — this was certain ; but was it 
to be accomplished in the way Nannie suggested? Was 
I the prize in that “ hellish’’ plan, and could it be that 
this man would stoop to a clandestine meeting with 
Carola ? I was too excited to sleep, and daylight came 
before my weary brain found any rest. On awaking, I 
at once resolved to communicate to Aunt Francisca what 
I had heard, and ask her advice. I ordered the carriage, 
therefore, as soon as I was dressed, and surprised the 
old lady just sitting down to breakfast. She listened to 
the story in silence, although her face expressed the 
keenest interest, and, when I finished, said, earnestly, — 

“ You may thank your Nannie, Lora, for warning you 
of serious danger, whether it was Count Hardeck or not. 
We know now that Edith desires you to marry him ; and, 
if you do, you are lost. Show by your conduct that 
under no consideration will you receive his addresses ; 
and da not be frightened from it either by his dark looks 
or Edith’s anger. You may be easy about one thing; 
Rudolph will -not marry you against yonr will. The 
danger lies in your entering the net voluntarily. Go your 
way quietly, and neither Edith nor Carola can harm you : 
the opposition to their plan will come from the Count 
himself. He will do nothing that can reflect upon you in 
the slightest degree.” 

“ Then you do not think it was he with Carola ?” 

“ Did I say that, Lora ?” 

N ot directly ; but this man spoke of a plan which ” 


ELEONORE. 


191 


“Child, cease your questioning; only let this interest- 
|i ing young man know that you will have nothing more to 
I do with him.” 

“ But if the Count, as you say, will not agree to Carola’s 
plans, how is my happiness to be imperiled by marrying 
him ?” 

j “You are a silly little thing I” she exclaimed, impa- 
I tiently. “You ought not to, and must not, marry Ru- 
I dolph Hardeck ; that’s enough I 1 see there must be a 
bolt shoved somewhere, as well for your sake as for that 
of other womeiu” 

I left Aunt Francisca this time a little disappointed, 
and not a whit wiser than I was before ; however, she 
i seeitted to think there was no danger if I kept the Count 
at a distance, and this reassured n>e. The next time I 
met the young man, I treated him with positive rudeness, 
which drove him away, at last, in anger, while Edith fired a 
whole arsenal of threatening glances at me from her 
beautiful eyes. 


XYI. 

I PASSED some very uncomfortable days after the events 
related in the last chapter. I could not be myself, and 
therefore appeared stiff and unamiable, while Edith was 
so thoroughly out of patience with me that she fre- 
quently forgot her part of tender mother, even before 
strangers. My father shared this disposition, and gave 
me one day a sharp lecture upon coquetry, feminine in- 
constancy, inordinate love of pleasure, etc., which, as it 
was delivered in the presence of his wife, and indorsed 
by her, I took without a word. It would seem as if he, 
too, desired my marriage with the Count; and since it was, 
in every respect, what the world would call a “ good 
niatch,” and, personally, I entertained no aversion to the 
man, Aunt Francisca’s counsel came to have less and less 
weight with me Besides, I began to grow tired of con- 
test, and to long for escape from my uncongenial home. 


192 


ELEOmRE. 


How many times my heart cried out for that one friend, 
ill whose protection, were it mine, I should feel so safe, 
— for that one harbor, where I could defy the heaviest 
storms, and be at rest 1 But it was a foolish hope, 
cherished without foundation, an idle dream, — nothing 
more. So as time passed on I dropped the armor which 
I had assumed, and received Count Hardeck with my 
former kindness. A gleam of joy, like sunlight, illumined 
his features for a moment, then passed away, leaving 
behind a look of calm, assured content. 

“ Well, Fräulein Ella,” said he, adopting, without com- 
ment, Edith’s abbreviation of my name, “ now that the 
horizon is clear, may I ask the reason of the clouds ?” 

“ Caprice, coquetry, inconstancy, and other baneful 
peculiarities belonging to my character,” I replied, some- 
what bitterly. 

“Am I to understand that these enviable peculiarities 
have been attributed to you in reproof, and that I have 
this to thank for your altered demeanor ?” said he, fixing 
his eyes steadly upon me. 

“ Why not. Count Hardeck? A cannon-shot will clear 
the sky of gathered clouds, it is said. Why not avail 
yourself of it when you wish to avoid a storm ?” 

His eyes flashed, and the thin lips curled with indigna- 
tion. “ Because I should be ashamed to purchase sun- 
shine by such violence!” he exclaimed. “ Because 1 will 
not be a party to such infamous proceedings !” 

“ Don’t scream so, young diplomatist,” interposed Fran- 
cisca, coming up suddenly. “You know nothing beyond 
a gentle whisper is permitted in your profession.” 

The Count bit his lips. “ You are mistaken there. 
The state otficial has to thunder quite as often.” 

“ But you must not use these terrible bolts against 
ladies, Rudolph,” she continued. 

“ Such things are possible. Countess. When ladies at- 
tempt to wield the club of Hercules, they must be met 
accordingly.” j 

“ You’re in a pleasant frame of mind, Rudolph. Un- 
less you are very brave, Lora, I advise you to retire 
from the lightnings of this oft'ended Jove, — your club may 
be too small for self-defense.” 


ELEONORE. 


193 


“ Unnecessary advice, Aunt Francisca. I decline burden- 
ing any one with my presence, nor will I accept through 
the mediation of others what I cannot gain myself.” 

He arose, and, with a slight bow, walked away, while I 
gazed after him with mingled surprise and vexation. 
The sudden animation of an icicle could not have aston- 
ished me more than this burst of feeling on the part of 
one whom I had seen so uniformly unimpassioned and 
self-controlled. It was another seal opened in the won- 
derful book, and the fresh page gave me a clue to many of 
its mysteries. 

The company was very small that evening, and the 
few present were gathered around an open fire in one of 
the small parlors. I felt little inclination to participate in 
the flow of gossip and small-talk in which they were in- 
dulging, and so retained my position on the outside of 
I the circle, perhaps with the faint expectation that the 
Count would return. But he gave no sign of any such 
intention, and I was about resigning my solitary post, 
when the announcement of a new arrival detained me. At 
the mention of the name, which I did not understand, 
Edith’s face flushed with anger, and in a tone loud enough 
for every one to hear, she exclaimed, “What does this 
mean, Ella? Who gave Herr von Waldenstein permis- 
sion to enter my salon 

Hugo Waldenstein I I could not believe my ears. For 
[ an instant all was blank, and then the hot blood rushed into 
: my face and tingled to my very finger-ends. He was 
I here, — I should see him again face to face, look once 
more into those clear, honest eyes I For my sake, too, 
he had come, — it must be so. Edith and her receptions 
were nothing to him besides. Before I could answer 
the question thus rudely addressed to me, he had en- 
tered the room and was making his apologies to her for 
the unceremonious intrusion. She received them ungra- 
ciously enough, and, after a few words, peremptorily dis- 
missed him to take care of himself. In the mean time I 
had been struggling for sufficient command over my 
thoughts and words to give him at least a cordial greeting ; 
but when he took my hand, I did not dare trust myself to 
do more than speak his name. 

I n 


194 


ELEONORE. 


‘'A message from Ratwitz will, I know, insure the 
bearer a hearty welcome from you, Fräulein Lora,’’ 
said he, taking the vacant seat by my side. “ But 1 am 
bold enough to hope for the favor without that.” 

“Dear llutwitzl” I managed to reply, but in an affected 
tone that made me angry at myself when 1 heard it. 
“ How I shall like to hear about it I” 

“ I have nothing very joyous to tell you,” he replied, 
softly. “ The sunshine all left us when you went. I have 
come ” 

“ Herr von Waldenstein, I believe I claim an acquaint- 
ance with you ?” interrupted Hardeck, who had ap- 
proached unobseryed. Once or twice, while Waldenstein 
was talking with Edith, I had caught the Count’s eye 
fixed upon me as if he W'ould read my soul through and 
through, and it tended not a little to increase my embar- 
rassment. He was destined this evening, in every way, to 
make himself disagreeable to me. Much as I enjoyed his 
society at ordinary times, just now I would gladly have 
dispensed with-it, and, if 1 mistake not, Waldenstein was 
of the same mind. 

“Ah, Count Hardeck I” exclaimed the latter, in re- 
sponse to the salutation. “I did not expect this pleasure. 

. Pardon my neglect in ” 

“Very natural, my dear fellow, under the circum- 
stances,” replied the Count, slightly elevating his eye- 
brows. “ How long is it since we met?” 

“Four or five years, I think,” was the reply. “You 
had just joined the legation, and were groaning over the 
little nest, as you called it, to which you had been sent.” 

“ Yes, it was dreadful dull ; but I did not remain there 
long. And you have been all this time in the country on 
your estate ?” 

“Ever since we parted at the University,” answered 
Waldenstein, cheerfully. “ Fräulein Lora can testify how 
thoroughly I have turned peasant. At our first meeting, 
I think she was inclined to doubt my word when I gave 
her my name.” 

“ Did this take place in such romantic solitude that 
you had to introduce yourself?” asked the Count before 
1 could reply. 


ELEONORE. 


195 


“If you call an alder-path through a marshy meadow 
a romantic solitude, yes,’’ he responded ; and then turning 
to me, added, “ 1 presume if Pasha could have spoken, I 
( should bring from him the tenderest remembrances of. 

I his old friend.” 

j “ Poor little Zephyr 1” said I. “ He doesn’t thrive well 
; here, and his pride rebels sorely against the ignominious 
! muzzle.” 

I “ Why have I never had the honor of Zephyr’s ac- 
quaintance?” inquired the Count, somewhat sharply. 

I “ Because our interviews do not take place in fields 
i and meadows,” said I. 

I “ Fields and meadows, then, have advantages which 
I drawing-rooms do not possess ; and yet you do not seem 
to miss the-m much, Fräulein Soltendorf ” 

“ Do you expect to be made my confidant. Count Har- 
deck?”3aidl. 

“ Advise me, Waldenstein ; what answer shall I make 
to a reprimand from such fair lips?” 

“Express your thanks for the gracious punishment, 
and promise not to ofi'end again,” suggested the latter, 
quietly. 

“The gracious punishment comes, alas, too often, and 
generally undeserved. But have you seen the Minister, 
Waldenstein ? He has just entered, and I shall be glad 
to present you, if you will allow me.” 

Waldenstein accepted the offer, although not very 
eagerly, and I did not see him again during the evening, 
; since Ihe zealous attentions of Count Hardeck left him 
not a moment to himself. The design of the latter in so 
doing was too palpable to be mistaken, but it could not 
I trouble me. 1 was wrapped in a tissue of blissful 
: dreams, so happy in the thought that he was near me, 

: that I cared for nothing beyond. He seemed to me, 
among these people, like an oak in a flower-garden, 
whose grandeur and refreshing shade atone for all lesser 
graces. He remained for a long time talking to the 
elderly gentlemen gathered near my father, and then 
. Hardeck brought him to the Countess Francisca, with 
whom he appeared to have some special errand. From 
5 the expression of her face, 1 concluded it was not al- 


196 


ELEONORE. 


together a pleasant one, and a faint suspicion crossed my 
mind that this, like so many other solemn conferences, 
had reference to me. She parted from me, however, 
without a word, and, to all appearances, in anything 
but a cheerful frame of mind. In fact, the evening 
seemed to have been a doleful one to everybody except 
myself. My joy at seeing Waldenstein again subdued 
and harmonized all previous discords, and opened such 
a sunny future, that the darkest hour behind me was for- 
gotten. 

As I was sitting in my room the next morning, shortly 
after breakfast, >Jannie came bounding in with a letter, 
which she handed to me triumphantly. 

“ There, my lady, the Frau Sultana and I fought over 
that till we came near pulling hair,” said she, panting. 

“What I” 1 exclaimed, with astonishment. “You and 
Blanche quarreling over one of my letters ?” 

“ Why, as to that, Fräulein Lora, you have to quarrel 
with this stable-mistress about everything. The head 
coachman — who, as my lady knows, is a very respectable 
man — chanced to be around when the letters were de- 
livered, and saw there was one for you. He told me, 
and I went straight to Blanche after it. She looked at 
me from top to toe, as she always does, and then asked 
me if I had lost my senses, — what did she know about 
our letters, and how could I have the impudence to come 
to her with such matters. But her high-sounding words 
don’t scare me, — I’ve heard too many of them. As luck 
would have it, her secretary — the great lady has a sec- 
retary to lock up her treasures — well, it was open, and 
1 saw a letter in one corner. Quicker than a wink I 
snatched it, and found it was yours. She screamed, but 
I held on, and so — so we had a little fight. When she 
saw 1 had the best of it, she put on her airs again, and 
said her Excellency should know of my conduct, and then 
told me to take myself out of her room, or she would 
put me out. 1 didn’t give her time for that, I was only 
too glad to get away. But I turned round in the door, 
and asked her to give my compliments to Fräulein Carola, 
and tell her my lady would read her letter herself this 
time.” 


ELEONORE. 


197 


“ You are a faithful, good girl, Nannie, as I knew you 
would be,” said I, kindly, but my heart sank in dismay 
at this fresh revelation of the deceit practiced against 
me. The letter was from Alma, and its contents, for- 
tunately, soon drew my thoughts from myself. 

“ These lines announce a visitor* my dear Lora,” wrote 
she, “ for whom I would bespeak a friendly reception. 
It is Willibald Miiller, sent by the fair Sophie to the 
capital, to form acquaintances among the literali there, 
and thus help along his fame a little, for the coy goddess 
is not yet decided to sound her trumpet in his honor. 
The truth is, however, Sophie wants him out of the way, 
so that she can have full liberty for another chase, which 
she is madly pursuing. He is a disgusting, conceited, old 
fool, who compares with Willibald about as a satyr does 
with Apollo, but he has a title, and is said to be immensely 
rich. You see, Lora, the person of the owner could be 
thrown into such a bargain, and not detract much from 
its value. But my wise sister knows that ‘ a bird in the 
hand is worth two in the bush,’ and she does not intend 
to let the captured one fly just yet. Now, Mamma 
Miiller and I have formed a plan to make this journey 
the means of rescuing the poor fellow from his unhappy 
fate, and you must help us. You have frequently men- 
tioned Professor Dortenbach in your letters, and 1 think 
he might possibly convince Willibald that a miller, who 
amuses himself occasionally by writing poetry, plays a 
more distinguished role than a poet who runs a mill. 
The authority of the former, in literary matters, is recog- 
nized by every one, and he has, besides, the opportunity 
of bringing other influences to bear upon our design; for 
although Willibald is no self-sufficient fool, he does not 
readily yield his judgment when once settled. 1 know 
it is neither an easy nor agreeable task which I thus lay 
upon the strange professor, but I trust your tact and 
kindness may screen its presumption, and induce the 
philosopher to open the eyes of my misguided friend. 

“I have little to tell you beyond this. Bella begins to 
treat poor Tauenfeld with more consideration. He has re- 
cently come into possession of a large property, and is not 
17 * 


198 


ELEONORE. 


only able to offer his wife a luxurious home, but seriously 
thinks of taking* one, which is something at least. Be- 
sides, she will have to give up all thoughts of Hugo 
Waldenstein, for he has entirely deserted us. His atten- 
tions are all directed to Frau von Rutwitz, consoling her 
for your absence, I presume. Whether the consolation 
is mutual or not, I am not informed, and, as you probably 
know more about it than I, I will venture no surmise. 

“Now, farewell, my dear Lora, and treat the man 
Willibald as kindly as you deal harshly with, the poet. 
Mamma Miiller sends her best love, and begs you to do 
all you can to save her boy. 

“ Your old friend, 

“ Alma.’^ 

Selfish though it was, I must confess that the last 
part of this letter interested me more than all the rest, 
since it strengthened the suspicion that I was the cause 
of Waldenstein’s unexpected visit tp the city. As Alma 
hinted, his regard for my aunt could not be the only 
thing which drew him to the castle so frequently, and 
the sweet assurance glided into my heart that he cher- 
ished for me an interest deeper than mere friendship. 
At last I remembered the real object of this communica- 
tion, and fell to considering how it was to be attained. 
There seemed no way but for Fraucisca to take the matter 
in hand, and enlist what forces she could against the 
unsuspecting poet ; so I set out at once to lay the business 
before her. I received anything but a hearty welcome 
from the old lady, and her first words were almost 
uncivil. 

“ To what am I indebted for this honor, Lora she 
asked, sharply. 

“ I wanted to see you. Aunt Francisca, and, as you 
did not come to me, what else could I do?” 

“ Your desire for my society is very flattering,” she 
continued, in the same tone ; “ but as I like honesty 
under all circumstances, I must tell you that I cannot 
permit my house to be a rendezvous for anybody, or if 
you like the German better, a Stelldichein.^^ 

“ Aunt Francisca I” 


ELEONORE. 


199 


I 


“Did Waldenstein tell you of his appointment with 
me this morning?’^ she continued; “ or did your sharp 
ears p:aiu the precious information by stealth ?” 

“ Neither, aunt,’* I replied, with a crimson face ; “ and 
I certainly should not have come had I even dreamed of 
such an appointment.” 

She regarded me steadily for moment : “ I believe 
you, Lora, and I am an old fool to think such things. 
You must forgive me, child, — I am as touchy as a porcu- 
pine this morning.” 

“ What makes you so. Aunt Francisca ?” 

“ Don’t aflect the diplomatist, Lora ; we’ve enough of 
that without you. It’s the arrival of that country lover 
of yours, and Rudolph Hardeck charges it upon me, as 
if I concerned myself about the sighing Celadon.” 

“ Did he seem that to you ?” I asked, cheerfully, for I 
was in too good spirits to be easily ruffled. 

“Well, no; quite to the contrary, he appeared like a 
sensible man. But so much the worse, — that makes 
matters only the more embarrassing.” 

“ What do you mean, aunt ?” 

“ You are such an unsophisticated child ! Is a ruined 
country squire a suitable match for the rich Eleonore 
Soltendorf, the daughter of the Prime Minister ? and do 
you think I should like to be looked upon as the faiseur or 
faiseuse of such a brilliant match ? Why do you bring 
forward such unpromising candidates, Lora ?” she added, 
laughing. “ I would gladly bestow my blessing on the 
man who took you from Edith’s maternal arms, provided 
he was the right one. Frau von Rutwitz must indulge 
in idyllic fancies in her lonely castle, if she thinks her 
protege will meet with any success.” 

“ Why should he not. Aunt Francisca?” said I, hiding 
my face behind Alma’s letter. 

“ I should think, my dear Lora, that the past few 
months would have reduced any romantic ideas of life 
you may have imbibed at Rutwitz to their actual value. 
It may be very noble, very generous, to regard character 
alone in the relations of this world, but it is, nevertheless, 
partial and impracticable, for external conditions will fall 
into the balance, and with the majority of people these 


200 


ELEONORE. 


weigh heaviest. I know we are all children of Adam, 
and, therefore, in one sense, equal, but you would not on 
that account dream of marrying a servant or milkman, 
although both may be better, intrinsically, than you are.” 

“ But, aunt ” 

“ Hush, my little Lora ! I know what you were going 
to say, but education and literary culture afford no real 
barrier in society, since both may be acquired. Rauch 
was, at one time, a valet de cliamhre, and so, I believe, 
was one of our former ministers.” 

“ Yery well, aunt; I should consider Rauch the servant 
as an improper alliance, but Rauch the artist as a highly 
proper one.” 

“ You are modest !” laughed Francisca. “ But that 
royal gray-head cannot serve as an illustration. With 
such crowned majesty, all ordinary criteria fail, — we 
have to do with the average of mankind. Fancy your 
lot cast with a man in a humble sphere of society, — try 
to do without the thousand and one little amenities of 
life which wealth and position furnish, and to which you 
are so accustomed that they pass unheeded, — come down 
from the high wave where you ride so securely, without 
any exertion on your own part, — experience every day the 
wants and humiliations which poverty and a lowly sta- 
tion impose, then see if you bear it always cheerfully 
and courageously ; see if the moral excellence of your 
husband compensates for all. You would have to be 
Vjetter than most people if, at times, there did not arise in 
your heart a feeling of bitterness against him who had 
cost you this enormous sacrifice, if you were not tempted 
to subject this inner worth to microscopic examination, 
until dark shadows were discovered upon the spotless 
surface.” 

“ It may be,” was my reply. “ I have never thought 
much about it ; still, this will never happen to me. Aunt 
Francisca, for you yourself just styled me the ‘ rich ’ 
Eleonore Soltendorf.” 

“ I should have qualified that expression. Your riches 
are uncertain, — did it ever occur to you that your father 
— but I have said enough. Carrying owls to Athens is 
a more profitable employment than preaching sense to 


ELEONORE. 


201 


girls. Such helter-skelter brains as theirs can only be 
brought to order by an iron must, and that will come 
.without my assistance. What is that paper you have 
been playing with, Lora 

“ It is a letter from Alma Windhem, and the immediate 
occasion of my visit,” I replied, handing her the sheet. 

She took it, read it through carefully, and then burst 
out laughing. 

“ What incredible nau’c^e these country people display! 
Such touching confidence in their city brethren. Convince 
a poet of his lack of ability, — absurd 1 The girl might as 
well have asked you to send her half a dozen solar-spots, 
or a few chateaux neatly packed in a satchel. Why, 

, Apollo himself could not do such a thing, and it is mad- 

1 ness to ask it of our poor Professor 1 Alma, of course, is 

in love with this interesting Willibald?” 

“ She regards him as a brother.” 

“ Ah, yes I The cook’s lovers are all cousins, and when 
her young mistress discovers a spiritual affinity in one of 
her masculine friends, she tries to throw dust in people’s 
eyes by adopting him as her brother. But we must see 
what can be done for the love-lorn damsel. As 1 have 
said, there is no hope of convincing the poet, but we may 
make poetry disgusting to him, and the result would be 
the same for your Alma. It seems to me, however, a 
more feasible undertaking to dislodge this mature siren 
from the gentleman’s heart, and seat his dear sister in her 
place, — that would be a marriage quite according to my 
ideas, the balance well poised.” 

“ But how can this be done, aunt?” 

“ Easily enough : we have but to drop into his ear the 

1 poison of distrust, gently hint how the case really stands, 
and he will not rest until it is sifted to the bottom. The 
greater the illusion, the deeper will be the sting when it 
is torn away; and since his poetry was consecrated to 
her worship, when she falls, that will perish also.” 

“ But I do not see why Willibald should want to marry 
Alma, even if he does not love Sophie any longer.” 

“ Child, you really are too simple ! It is as plain as 
that 6 follows a. WLat more natural than that this dis- 
consolate lover, wounded in his most sacred affections, 
I* 


202 


ELEONORE. 


should throw himself into the arms of his adopted sister 
for comfort ? And as naturally the broken heart-tendrils 
will cling to this tender comforter, and the pain she 
soothes be transformed into fresh-shooting happiness. 
The thing goes on of itself, like a tune from a music-box 
when it’s wound up, — that reminds me it is five o’clock, 
time you were at home, and I was preparing for my visi- 
tor. I must put on ray most benevolent air, and choose 
the softest phrases I can command, to inform the poor 
fellow that he is not wanted here.” 

When I went to Edith’s parlor that afternoon, I found 
her still under a cloud. Our sweet pet has sought to 
surprise us by a most charming toilet,” said she, with a 
sneer, to Carola. ^ It is the first time I have seen her 
even passably dressed. What a pity her trouble should 
be all lost! Did you have sweet dreams, Ella?” she con- 
tinued, in the same strain. “I hope you remember that 
dreams are mere phantoms, and vanish with the light.” 

“ I do not understand you, mamma,” I replied. 

” The poor child does not understand me,” said she, 
again to Carola. “ I shall have to say plainly that the 
silly hope of seeing her rustic Adonis must be given up, 
unless he has the effrontery to present himself a second 
time without any invitation.” 

I could with difficulty conceal my disappointment and 
indignation. It had never entered my mind that such 
an insult could be extended to Waldenstein. But I choked 
down the rising tears, and, to change the subject, began 
telling her of Alma's letter. 

“ I beg you spare me, Ella !” she cried, with a yawn. 
“Your Rutwitz friends interest me as tittle as your love 
affairs. I have had enough of both.” 

The hot blood rushed into my face. Edith seemed deter- 
mined to make me angry. Fortunately, at that moment, 
my father entered the room, and I was spared further 
insult. 

“ You are just in time, Robert,” resumed his wife, 
gayly: “ our sweet child is angry at me because I do not 
find her country lover as captivating as she does.” 

He looked at me sternly : “ It is not a subject for jest, 
Edith. I have invited Herr von Waldenstein to my house, 


ELEONORE. 


203 


it is true, but merely out of politeness, — I do not wish his 
name coupled with Lora’s.” 

Edith’s eyes flashed, but she continued, in her playful 
way, “How is this, my lord, have you so little respect 
for my empire that you invade its privileges without 
warrant?” 

“ The young man brought me a letter to-day from our 
old aunt,” he replied, without heeding his wife’s raillery. 
“ She is decidedly prepossessed in his favor, and recom- 
mends him to my kind offices, — of course, I opened my 
doors to him after such an introduction, and even with- 
out this claim, considering the extent of our invitations, 
politeness would hardly allow his exclusion.” 

Whether these words were intended as- a reproof to the 
fair empress of the drawing-rooms, or whether she only 
chose to consider them so, 1 do not know, but she an- 
swered, pettishly, “I am always obliged to suffer for the 
sins of others, and, whenever Ella deserves punishment, 
I have to feel the rod. I wash my hands, however, of 
any mischief that may follow this imprudence. We all 
know Frau von Rutwitz is in her second childhood, — she 
has given us satisfactory proof of that already ; and now 
she forces upon our notice a man whose family is uni- 
versally despised. I do not see what could have induced 
you to respect such a letter.” 

I had a great mind to suggest that this was the case 
with her own family, but wisely refrained. 

“ Our dear aunt does seem to have lost her memory,” 
continued my father ; “ for she speaks of her frequent 
letters to me lately, when I have never received a line.” 

Although I kept my eyes steadily fixed upon the fire, I 
still caught Carola’s quick glance towards me ; but Edith, 
convinced of my harmlessuess, rejoined, with a shrill 
laugh, “ Really, Soltendorf, it takes shining evidence to 
persuade you. The rest of us were long ago settled in 
our minds as to her imbecility.” 

Dinner interrupted this conversation, and, greatly to my 
relief, it was not renewed. When we left the table, niy 
father betook himself to his office and I to the solitude of 
my own apartments. 


204 


ELEONORE. 


XVII. 

Our evening receptions, so monotonous and oftentimes 
tiresome, now assumed a wholly dilFerent aspect. The 
hope of seeing Hugo Waldenstein shed a wonderful lustre 
over those few hours, and made them to me the sum and 
centre of the whole twenty-four. 1 dreamed of his coming 
during the day, and, on entering the brilliant salon, my 
eyes sought his form alone in the assembled crowd. 
Count Hardeck was much too keen an observer to remain 
ignorant of this change ; but he passed no comment upon 
it, and rarely mentioned his rival’s name, although of 
late he had become almost confidential with me, and really 
exerted himself for my entertainment. A little skirmish 
which he had one night with Edith, partly on my account, 
revealed the existence of more cordial relations between 
the two men than 1 had imagined. As usual my watch- 
ful mamma had stationed herself In our vicinity, and was 
smiling approval upon the long tete-ä-tete between Har- 
deck and myself, when the former called to her, — 

“ Herr von Waldenstein begs permission of your Ex- 
cellency, through me, to introduce a friend, Herr Willi- 
bald Miiller, who ” 

Edith opened her eyes. “ Your request is a very singu- 
lar one. Count Hardeck,” she exclaimed, interrupting him 
in the middle of his sentence. “Herr von Waldenstein 
ought to congratulate himself on his own introduction, 
without presuming upon it for his friends.” 

“If you consider it contrary to strict etiquette for a 
stranger to take this liberty, your Excellency, 1 beg leave 
to present Herr Miiller myself,” responded the Count, 
with perfect composure. 

She saw that her arrows glided harmless from his pol- 
ished armor of self-control, and so directed them against 
me. “Your rustic admirers accumulate, Ella. It is un- 
fortunate that I cannot look upon the addition to my social 
circle with favor. After a Herr Miiller, I am curious to 
know whom next the magnet of your presence will attract 
this way.” 

“ I think you are safe in assuming they will be per- 


ELEONORE. 


205 


pons of cultivated mind and manners, against whom such 
Insinuations are inexcusable, even in sport,” replied Ilar- 
deck, looking her steadily in the eye. 

An embarrassing silence followed this remark, and I 
watched Edith closely, questioning in my mind how she 
would receive this reproof. Her next words were a 
striking evidence of the power which this man possessed 
over her. 

“ Your knights break lances so fearlessly in your serv- 
ice, Ella,” said she, “ that I acknowledge myseff defeated, 
and am ready to be introduced to this Herr Miiller when- 
ever he appears.” 

“ That is not necessary, Edith,” interposed Francisca. 
“ You seem to have forgotten that this young man was 
once your nearest neighoor, and that you have often been 
to his father’s house. Do you know, my dear Professor,” 
she continued, to that gentleman, “ there has been a Her- 
culean task laid out for you '{ — no, worse than that, it’s 
rather filling a Danaidian sieve or performing the labor of 
Sisyphus.” 

The Professor smiled. “ Speak plainly, please. Count- 
ess ; you know guessing riddles is not my forte.” 

“ Well, you are to convince a man who is given to 
writing poetry that he is, in no sense, a favorite of the 
Muses, but only an ordinary mortal.” 

“That would be a fruitless endeavor, I fear.” 

“ One that could only have been concocted by two 
thoughtless maiden heads ! But I have averted their 
attack upon you, and taken the most difficult part of the 
business upon myself.” 

“You are not afraid of using the sieve, then. Countess ?” 

“No; or rather I shall prudently beware of such a 
silly commencement. It has always been a puzzle to me 
that fifty women could find no way of getting rid of such 
profitless business.” 

“ The Greeks neither recognized nor honored woman’s 
mind, and ” 

“ For that reason I abominate this everlasting devo- 
tion to everything Grecian. My whole nature revolts at 
being considered a mere animal, when there is no possi- 
bility of opening the eyes of these benighted Greeks to 

18 


ELEONORE, 


2or> 

tlio contrary. What do you think, Professor, would a 
tribunal of the ancients have pardoned my sins on account 
of my beauty V 

“ Your question touches the great gulf between the 
ancient and modern world. Countess.” 

Hardeck here claimed the latter’s attention, and the 
Professor, finding an interested listener in me, continued 
the subject thus broached. I was not so absorbed, how- 
ever, in the elucidation of the difference between Chris- 
tian and heathen civilization, and the relation of morality 
to aesthetics, but that I found an ear for the conversation 
carried on near me. 

“ Is your poet the young man who gave rise to that 
friendly exchange of sentiment just now between her 
Excellency and myself?” asked the Count of Aunt Fran- 
cisca. 

While the Professor enlightened me further concerning 
the influence of the classic mind upon our own time, I 
waited eagerly for the reply to this question. 

“ You have appeared in a new character, Rudolph I I 
wonder Edith did not resent your impertinent retort.” 

“ How could she, aunt, in the face of her own insult- 
ing speech ? — it eclipsed mine altogether.” 

“ But it did not concern you, Rudolph. Your as- 
surance to-day ” 

“ Is not contradicted in the least. I have given my 
word of honor, and shall keep it to the letter.” 

“ It is that very thing which surprises me !” 

“ Would you have liked a duel better, aunt? It would 
have been much easier to dispose of the matter in that 
way, I can do no more than give the man an equal 
chance, and that I have promised.” 

“ Try to impose that story upon somebody else, Ru- 
dolpn ! Like Hamlet’s mother, you will buy stolen 
goods at a cheap rate, and not burden your conscience 
with consequences.” 

“You may be mistaken in the workings of my con- 
science, Aunt Francisca. I believe I am on better terms 
with it than I have been for years.” 

“I don’t doubt that in the least, — it never seems to 
trouble you.” 


ELEONORE. 


207 


I “ Would you know it if it did V' 

“ ProbabFy not. You are as impenetrable as the 
Sphinx. Why not drop this harness, Rudolph, and be 
3^ourself occasionally 

“It would cost too much, aunt, and my friends may 
well be thankful just now that I wear it.” 

For over a week after this I did not see either Hardeck 
or Waldenstein. The ab.sence of the latter troubled me, 
and I be^an to fear my beautiful castles were built upon 
too slender a foundation. The tender blossom of hope, 
which had lifted its head so timidly in my heart, withered 
and drooped ; the sunshine had departed, and it was not 
strong enough yet to defy the clouds. But youth climbs 
to the calm heights of patience, through repeated dis- 
appointment, and the way is always' dark and strange. 
I tortured my brain with vain conjectures as to the cause 
of his disappearance, — waited, grieved, despaired almost, 

' and then the old Prince innocently came to my rescue, 
and set my face again towards the east. 

From a few chance words which he dropped, I learned 
that necessity, not choice, had drawn my knight away. 
He had been summoned, unexpectedly, to minister to his 
sister, of whose sad history my aunt had previously 
given me an account, and who now, by her husband’s 
sudden death, was left to the sole charge of this noble- 
hearted brother. I did not welcome him less warmly 
when he returned on account of this generous errand; 
it was another tie fastening my faith in the unselfish, 
disinterested nature of the man. His sympathies and 
affections were no mere slaves to personal gratification 
and pleasure, but ministering angels, sent abroad to 
touch the waste places around him, and cast up a royal 
highway for some weary brother to walk in. His heart 
scattered more than it gathered, or rather gathered in 
scattering. Love with him would seek not so much the 
appropriation, as the happiness of its object ; it would 
ask for the privilege of expending its own great strength, 
instead of deniiinding pound for pound, an exact return. 
The shadow of the past few days still lingered upon 
his face and gave to it an expression of deep serious- 
ness. I endeavored, in the prescribed fashion, to convey 


208 


ELEONORE. 


my regret at the melancholy event which had deprived us 
of his society, and to assure him of the pleasure we ex- 
perienced in seeing him again, but the joy was too intense 
for such bridling, and before I knew it, with my whole 
heart in my eyes, I had said enough for him to guess how 
much and how little my fine speech meant. Then came 
the answer to all my anxious questionings, the realization 
of all my sweet anticipations. I read it in the glance 
which met mine, so full of infinite tenderness, trust, and 
satisfaction, in the low, tremulous tones, and the warm 
pressure of his hand. He did not say much. It was no 
time or place for words ; but I knew it, nevertheless, and 
the blissful knowledge soothed every pain, and brought 
to my heart a sweet content, to which I had long been a 
stranger. 

I saw him afterwards almost daily, but never alone. 
Edith took care that this should not happen. Her 
attempt to banish him entirely had failed, but she would 
not suffer this failure to defeat her purpose. I did not 
cherish any ill feeling against her, however, on this ac- 
count. I only pitied her ; pitied one whom caprice (for so 
I still called her desire for my union with Hardeck) had 
mastered so completely. My regard for the Count still 
continued, and, if the old love had not been revived, 
I might, some time, have consented to become- his wife, 
with the hope of finding a release from the strife and 
discord of my father’s house. But how this paltry 
object paled in the light which now illumined my life! I 
could not comprehend my former willingness to pass a 
lifetime without the rich blessing of love. In spite of Aunt 
Francisca’s prediction to the contrary, I fully believed 
that could compensate for every deprivation and bear 
me up through every trouble. I knew if I linked my 
fate with Waldenstein’s, I must leave the brilliant circle in 
which my parents moved; but there was not much regret 
in that thought. Many a lonely hour had I spent in this 
magnificent palace, and amid all the luxury and abun- 
dance, I had gone unfed. I had learned already that 
happiness is not a thing of circumstance, and that the 
accidents of life will everywhere take their color from the 
tone and temper of the soul. 


ELEONORE. 


209 


My love for Waldenstein was not a fierce torrent of 
passion, breaking resistlessly over all obstruction, and 
stirring up the unhealthy sediment of my nature in its mad 
course. It resembled more some deep, calm lake, which 
holds heaven and earth in its quiet bosom, and catch- 
ing each single, separate ray of light, blends and diffuses 
the whole over the translucent surface, till it glows and 
shimmers like the sun himself The future, that bad hith- 
erto looked so blank and dreary, now held up before my 
bewildered gaze joys unspeakable. Each day was the 
i messenger of new discoveries in this world of happiness, 
I® and I sometimes used to fear my poor heart could not 
bear it all when I entered at last into full possession of 
my kingdom. Yet my days went on, to outward appear- 
ances the same. I slept and waked and ate and talked 
as before, but I was no more like my old self than these 
mortal bodies of ours are like the glorious vestments of 
immortality. I marveled that the world did not see the 
transfiguration, it was so evident to myself; but the 
depths are always solitary, and the sacred chambers of 
the human heart no man’s eye may pierce. 

To complete my happiness, if it needed any com- 
! pleting, my father gave his full sanction to Walden- 
stein’s suit, leaving me free to choose between him and 
Hardeck; as my heart dictated. “ In either case, my 
dear Lora,” said he, “you have my blessing. You are 
aware that Count Hardeck, so far as wealth and position 
are concerned, has the advantage, but I believe your 
character would develop more soundly in the simple, 
quiet atmosphere of the country. I do not wish to re- 
proach you at such a time, my child, but considering 
your inclination to extravagance, self-indulgence, and 
coquetry, I fear you would run a great risk as the 
Countess Hardeck. You know we ought not only to 
pray ‘ Lead us not into temptation,’ but our endeavor 
should be, as much as possible, to withdraw ourselves 
from it. Still I do not wish to influence you : to your own 
: heart belongs the decision. One thing only I charge you: 
do not dare, for the sake of your own amusement, to 
trifle with the hopes of another, — such selfishness is un- 
pardonable, yes, worse than that, it is absolutely wicked.” 

18 * 


210 


ELEONORE. 


I was too absorbed in my own affairs during these days 
to think much of Alma, but the arrival of Willibald 
Miiller roused me to a consideration of the work I had 
to do for her. The young poet appeared to better advan- 
tage than I had ever seen him, and the ladies, with whom 
he speedily became a great favorite, raved immoderately 
over his classic face and aristocratic bearing. 

“This Herr Miiller looks like a prince,” said Aunt 
Francisca, after his introduction to her. “ Sophie Wind- 
hem is a fool, or I had better say, a woman of most 
extraordinary sense, for if she married him she would 
be roasted in a scorching fire of jealousy half the time. 
Still, she has no heart, I am sure, or it would have been 
riddled long ago past all hope of repair. My task is 
harder than I imagined. He is so agreeable, that instead 
of sending him away, I should like to keep him here the 
rest of the season, and I’m in danger of thinking his 
poetry fine just because he wrote it.” 

Fortunately, Professor Dortenbach was too familiar 
with classic models to have his mental equilibrium wholly 
upset by a nose, and for awhile he was the only ally 
poor Alma had. He actually took the trouble to read 
several of Willibald’s poems, and with great kindness, 
but unflinching candor, showed the author that only 
their blemishes were original, all the excellence they pos- 
sessed being the rightful property of others, although, of 
course, the robbery was unconscious as well as uninten- 
tional. These conversations affected Miiller something as 
a gunpowder explosion might have done, — he experi- 
enced a violent shock, and that was all. Francisca knew 
best. The divinity that inspired his verse must be cast 
down before he would be disenchanted of the deceitful 
Muse. It was a long time before her shaft was ready, 
but it fell at last, and pierced his heart to the core. I 
had been engaged in another part of the room, and was 
returning to my favorite place near the Countess, when 
I noticed her companion, and from the expression upon his 
countenance readily divined the nature of their interview. 
He was very pale, and his lips trembled so that he could 
hardly speak. 

“ Have you had news from Rutwitz recently, Fräulein 


ELEONORE. 


211 


Lora ?” he asked, as I came up. “ Do you know any- 
thing of this stranger who ’’ 

He could go no further, and I answered the unfinished 
question with the most hypocritical unconcern. 

“Oh, I can guess who you mean! Aunt wrote me 
that Sophie Windhem was trying to entrap a certain rich 
Count.’’ 

It was a gross falsehood, for I had not received a letter 
from. my aunt in weeks ; but I could not bring in Alma’s 
name, and there must be no room given him to doubt the 
report. The Jesuit is a monstrous sinner, and his doctrine 
false, unquestionably, but we all of us copy' him occa- 
sionally, and virtually declare our unlawful means sancti- 
fied by holy ends. 

For a moment Willibald appeared stunned, and* then 
he said, hesitatingly, “And you think Sophie ” 

“ Has fallen in love with this man ? Oh, no, not at all, 
— he is not veryattractive personally, I believe. She has 
fallen in love with his title and estate.” 

“ It cannot be 1” he exclaimed, impatiently. “ So de- 
voted a worshiper of the ideal as Sophie could not con- 
descend to such base ambitions.” 

“ These aspirations after the ideal, others have never 
remarked in her, Herr Willibald,” I replied. “ On the 
contrary, she has shown herself extremely selfish and cal- 
culating. Did it not involve the loss of your society, I 
should advise you to inform yourself personally of her 
fidelity, — that would set your mind at rest. Perhaps 
you might find the play ended, — they say Sophie has 
small chance of winning the prize, — then you could con- 
sole her for the loss.” 

“ Do you consider me capable of offering such consola- 
tion ?” said he ; and his face flushed with anger. 

“ I consider you capable of warm sympathy, and you 
surely could not refuse it here, even though the suffering 
were deserved;” 

“ You overestimate my sympathetic heart,” he replied, 
sarcastically. “ I have nothing but contempt for any 
woman who lends herself to so base a part. Indeed, it 
becomes a question whether it is ever worth while to waste 
genuine feeling upon this miserable human race of ours.” 


212 


ELEONORE. 


“You are a member of it yourself, Herr Willibald,’^ 
I rejoined, “ and can do to others as you would like to 
be done by.” 

“ Forg-ive me, Fräulein Eleonore. I am talking at 
random.” 

“ So I see. But let me suggest that of all persons, you 
have least reason to pronounce a malediction upon the 
race because one individual has betrayed you.” 

“ Yes ; that sounds like Alma. She has said a great 
many harsh things to me, — but she was honest in it.” 

It was not my intention to discuss Alma on this occa- 
sion, and I was glad of an interruption just here. Willi- 
bald left soon after, and, as I learned, set out early the 
next morning for Rutwitz. We had administered a se- 
vere remedy, but I foresaw its good effects. Alma would 
have him all to herself now, and once under her influence, 
he was safe ; while a twofold blessing came to her through 
his return. Not only had she regained a friend, but her 
nature, relieved from the chafings of restrained affection, 
would be brought back to its original harmony and effect- 
iveness. 


X XVJIT. 

To my surprise. Aunt Franscisca was among our 
guests the next evening, and I hastened to inform her of 
Willibald’s departure and the probable success of our 
plot; but she did not seem in the mood to rejoice over 
anybody’s good fortune, and scarcely answered me civilly. 
Evidently something had gone wrong with her, and 
when Hardeck joined us, I learned what it was. 

“ I suppose I have to thank you for this piece of luck, 
Rudolph ?” said she, spitefully. 

Not a muscle of his face moved, and he returned her 
searching glance with a look of careless indifference. 

“What luck, aunt ? Explain what it is, and I will tell 
you whether I am its author or not.” 

“ You have put it into the head of my abbess to recall 
me,” she responded, in the same irritated tone. 


ELEONORE, 


213 


“For Heaven’s sake, Aunt Francisca, do not accuse 
me of a conspiracy with that most excellent body!” cried 
Hardeck, with a comical gesture of abhorrence. “ I would 
go miles out of my way at any time to avoid the institu- 
tion or its worthy superior, and you may rest assured 
that the sternest necessity could not drive me to seek her 
aid. Besides,” he added, lifting his eyebrows (a favorite 
pantomime), “ I am clear-sighted enough to distinguish 
friends from foes, and would rather not lose you just 
now.” 

She looked puzzled. “ Well, the blow has come from 
some other quarter then, — but it is all the same, and I 
am furious over it.” 

“.When were you notified ?” asked the Count. 

“ This afternoon. I received a most affectionate letter, 
in which I was reminded of the law requiring every 
canoness to spend two months of the year, at least, in 
the institution, and, as there was no hint of any indul- 
gence in my case, I am compelled to leave immediately.” 

“ And you suspect me of prompting this sweet epistle ?” 
asked Hardeck, laughingly. “You are too modest, aunt. 
I presume the real reason is to be found in your own 
attractions.” 

“Don’t laugh at me, Rudolph, — I am too indignant. 
Think of passing sixty days in a place where the horizon 
is about as extended as the rim of a cheese I If I venture 
upon a witty remark, those good women will be shocked 
half out of their senses, and their mantle of Christian 
charity will have to be pieced out to cover all my mis- 
demeanors. I shall grow as stupid as they in a little 
while, and I have no doubt can soon give an animated 
account of how Schulze’s Marie fell down and broke her 
nose, and the schoolmaster’s oldest boy tore his stockings.” 

“ 1 wonder if an unaffected interest in broken noses and 
torn stockings would not make all of us happier I” said 
the Count. 

“ Try it and see, Rudolph. This is delicious revenge 
for you I can imagine, but I heartily wish you had to go 
in my place. So you really had nothing to do with it?” 

“ Nothing at all.” 

“ Then it is Edith’s work.” 


214 


ELEONORE. 


“ I do not think so,” was the reply. “ She gave me 
her word not to interfere.” 

“ A credulous diplomatist, — what a sight for the gods I 
Remember Hamlet’s mother, Rudolph, — that is my^fare- 
well injunction.” 

This news did not affect me as it would have done a 
few weeks before, for Waldenstein filled my heart com- 
pletely, and, with him, I wanted no one else. So is love, 

— selfish in its desires, although giving birth to the 
noblest and most generous emotions of which mankind is 
capable. It is divine in its origin, but like the human 
soul, its wings are fastened in the clay. Francisca prom- 
ised to see me again before going away, but she did not 
come, — that is, I did not know of her coming. She had 
several times lately been refused admittance, and I felt 
confident that, so far as she was able, the appointment 
had been kept. 

With regard to Waldenstein, Edith seemed to have 
yielded to the inevitable, or else she was trying to make .. 
a conquest of him herself. There was no one now whose 
society she courted so assiduously, and no one whom she 
apparently cared so much to please. He was at her side 
most of the time, and I rarely spoke with him, except in 
her presence. Although I had no fears of losing his 
affection, this state of things troubled me, for I knew there 
lurked a selfish purpose in these friendly advances, and 
that in some way Edith expected to gain her own ends ' 
by conciliating my lover. I watched her with consid- 
erable anxiety, and was not surprised at finding ere long [ 
a slight justification of my suspicions. As usual, one * 
evening, she had claimed him for her companion, and was 
pouring into his ear a stream of brilliant nothings, when 
I noticed a shadow creep over his face, which gradually 
settled into an expression of gloomy discontent. His 
eyes were fixed upon the floor, and the whole aspect of 
the man showed that he had received an unexpected but 
severe blow. When she at last released him, he did not 
seek me as I expected, but turned away to another part 
of the room, and I saw no more of him for the rest of the 
evening. The cool bow and formal “ good-night ” at 
parting struck a chill through my heart, and I had all 


ELEONORE. 


215 


I could do to keep back the tears. Wliat had Edith said 
to cause this change in him ? Was the bread for which 
I had so hungered, to be cruelly wrenched from my grasp 
by tliis selfish woman ? Must the cup of happiness be 
snatched from me before I had fairly tasted the delicious 
draught? All the next day I hoped and waited for some 
explanation, but it did not come, and nearly a week passed 
before there was even a chance of restoration to my* 
paradise of unclouded love. In the mean time, it was re- 
ported to my ears, through her, whose special mission it 
seemed to -administer to me the bitterness of life, that 
Herr von Waldenstein was deeply interested in the beauti- 
ful daughter of a wealthy banker in the city, and that 
her father seemed greatly plea*sed at the prospect of the 
alliance. My considerate mamma sjiared no pains to give 
this rumor an appearance of truth, and every little cir- 
cumstance wliich could favor such a relation was care- 
fully repeated in my hearing. She actually took me with 
her one morning to ride in the park, the first time in 
months, for, I believe, no other reason than that I n)ight 
see him in company with this girl. But 1 respected the 
man much too highly to heed these insinuations, — if he 
had left me it was for no such cause, and I firmly re- 
solved to keep my faith in him intact until his own 
words proved it vain. 

At last he came, and just to see him, to hear his voice 
again, almost satisfied me. But the cloud still hung be- 
tween us. There was an unnatural reserve in his man- 
ner, an air that would have suited llardeck exactly, but 
which with him revealed something ajar within. At times 
his eyes sought my face, but not with that look of yearn- 
ing affection 1 was accustomed to see in them. They were 
fixed upon me coldly, critically as if he were determined 
to read my inmost thoughts. To break through this icy 
atmosphere was impossible. There were no grounds of 
accusation against him: he was only a little distant, sub- 
dued, or embittered, — I scarcely know which word best 
expresses it, — so oppressively civil, that I had no right to 
feel hurt or inquire into the change. At first I was grieved, 
cruelly grieved, by this state of things, and then a feeling 
of resentment took [)ossession of me. 1 was conscious of 


216 


ELEONORE. 


no offense against him, either by word or deed, and if, 
unwittingly, I had done him any injury, was he not bound 
to tell me of it frankly and give me an opportunity to justify 
myself? I determined, therefore, to return his cool polite- 
ness in the same spirit, and for a time treated him with 
the most severe indifference whenever he addressed me. 
For awhile there was a kind of miserable satisfaction in 
witnessing the surprise and pain this conduct occasioned 
him ; but I was not brave enough to enjoy the sweets of 
revenge, and my courage soon oozed away. I was deso- 
late and heart-sick, and, careless of observation or com- 
ment, I retired to a solitary corner, where I could at least 
look as sadly as I felt. 

“ You are not well,” said a voice near me, after a few 
moments ; and, looking up, I saw Waldenstein. “ I fear 
city air does not agree with you.” 

I smiled faintly, but made no reply. He hesitated a 
little, and then, drawing up an ottoman, sat down by ray 
side. 

“ Have you been ill ? Is there nothing I can do for 
you, Lora?” he continued ; and in the tones of his voice 
vibrated the old tenderness. “ This is why you have ap- 
peared so ” He stopped suddenly on meeting the 

reproachful look in my eyes, and asked, eagerly, “ What 
is it, — tell me ? Have I grieved you? If I could only 
believe that I had been deceived I” 

Again my eyes had to be my interpreter; for Edith 
came rustling up and drew me away. But just before 
the company separated, he approached me again, and 
asked rather timidly if he might send me a bouquet in 
honor of my aunt’s birthday. I granted the permission, 
but with the most dignified formality, since Edith was 
near us and probably heard the request. 

Early the following morning, Nannie entered my room 
with the promised gift. Blanche had given it to her, she 
said, and the little maid was in a state of great excite- 
ment over the condescension. I handled the beautiful 
flowers as tenderly as if they had been human. It seemed 
to me that his eyes looked up from them into mine, and I 
whispered to them the precious secret which his ear alone 
was worthy to hear. At the breakfast-table Edith told my 


ELEONORE. 


2n 


father of the bouquet I had received on my aunt’s account, 
and laughingly suggested that its beauties should grace 
my evening toilet, so that papa might enjoy it, too.” 

“ Yes, bring it down, Lora,” said my father, stroking 
my hair affectionately. “ It is no doubt a wonderful ob- 
ject, and I shall examine it with great interest.” 

It cost me considerable self-denial to comply with this 
request and expose my treasure to the irreverent gaze of 
strangers, but I shrank from the cutting remarks which I 
knew would follow a refusal. There were gentlemen to 
dinner that day. But we had scarcely finished our coffee, 
when Edith arose, and, with a flourish of apologies to her 
guests for the unpardonable rudeness, excused herself and 
me, declaring that she had not the heart, after so many 
entreaties, to deny her sweet child the pleasure of the opera. 
I followed her from the room in silent amazement ; for 
while I unhesitatingly preferred the music to the dry dis- 
course of those old politicians, these entreaties existed 
purely in the imagination of my thoughtful mamma. The 
arrangements had all been made beforehand. The carriage 
stood ready, and Flora was awaiting us in the corridor 
with our wrappings. I wanted to send for Nannie, and 
deliver my flowers into her charge, but Edith would not 
give me time. 

“ Throw the thing away, or take it with you,” said 
she ; “ only be quick !” 

The first part of this advice was out of the question, 
and observing that she, too, held a superb bouquet, I 
followed her with mine in my hand. As we entered 
our box, my eye fell upon Waldenstein and Hardeck in 
their usual seats, opposite, and, at the close of the first 
act, they joined us. The former puzzled me. He was 
greatly agitated, and while his countenance fairly glowed 
with He reflection of some great hope, there was a 
hesitation of voice and manner very unusual with him. 
lie spoke but little, and these few words seemed to drop 
from his lips unconsciously. I thanked him for his beau- 
tiful gift as warmly as I dared, but the restraint imposed 
by Edith’s })reseuce made my acknowledgments sound 
cold and hollow. For an instant after I had finished 
speaking, he fixed upon me an eager, hungry look, and 


218 


ELEONORE. 


then the light all went out of his face, leaving upon it 
an expression of dull, blank despair. I had no chance 
to think what it all meant, for Hardeck began rallying 
me upon my distraction, while Edith took possession of 
Waldenstein, and by her lively chatter soon restored him 
to apparent equanimity, although that vacant stare still 
remained. When the music began again, he left his seat, 
and stood with folded arms leaning against one of the 
pillars. 

“ What can he the matter with Herr von Waldenstein 
I asked of Edith, with feigned indifference. 

“Probably some whim, my dear, — or it may be a 
frown from his beautiful heiress. Men call us capricious, 
but they are as changeable as a weather-vane themselves. 
But nHmpo7'te now, we must get our bouquets ready for 
the prima donna, — there is a perfect wilderness of flowers 
here to-day.” 

“ Throw my bouquet I” I exclaimed, drawing back. 

“ Do not scream so, my dear. I suppose you hardly 
care to have your gallant friend overhear you. To place 
such value upon an offering bestowed on your aunt’s 
account, is ridiculous. Besides, do you not see that by 
retaining it you show the giver a special mark of favor, 
which his conduct of to-day certainly does not warrant ? 
— it would strike him as a little unwomanly, I fear.” 

I could not deny the truth of her words, and yet the 
thought of parting with my darling flowers was un- 
endurable. involuntarily my grasp upon them tightened, 
when the singer with a flourish of trills and runs an- 
nounced the approaching conclusion of one of her most 
brilliant arias. 

“ Do not forget who you are,” whispered Edith again, 
hoarsely. “ Bemember 1 am responsible for your actions, 
and, if you do not know yourself what belongs to the 
dignity of lady, I command you to follow my example, 
and throw that bouquet.” 

At no time was I strong enough to def}^ this woman 
openly, and now she had taken me so unawares, that all 
power of choice seemed paralyzed. My will was passive 
before hers. When the applause burst forth, I followed 
the threatening look in her eyes, and blindly, desperately. 


ELEONORE. 


219 


flung the priceless gift upon the hateful boards. No sooner 
was it gone than I knew what I had done, and a sicken- 
ing dread seized my soul. Suppose Waldenstein should 
take the act as a personal affront, — it certainly admitted 
that construction. I glanced towards him anxiously. 
He stood as before, with his arms crossed, and his 
eyes fastened upon the floor. No signs of extraordinary 
emotion were visible, but his lips were pressed tightly 
together, and as I watched him, I saw a dark streak of 
blood settle between them. It seems to me that I suf- 
fered in that one moment a lifetime of agony. Each of 
those crimson drops burnt into my heart like molten lead. 
I longed to throw myself at his feet, to beg forgiveness 
for the cruel wrong I had done him, — done him uninten- 
tionally, yes, against my will, — and implore him to 
accept my love. Suddenly the door closed, — I looked 
up, and he was gone. My brain spun in a world of 
bewilderment, — I forgot where I was, and who I was. 
Strips of darkness checkered the brilliantly illuminated 
hall, and a crowd of lifeless shadows filled the seats. I 
was alone with my grief,- — no more myself, but a living, 
breathing casket of misery. 

“ Has Waldenstein deserted us?” asked Edith, care- 
lessly, when the curtain fell for the last time. 

“ He begged me to excuse him to the ladies,” replied 
Hardeck. “ Something unusual must have happened, he 
looked like a ghost.” 

“ There were other people in the theatre besides our- 
selves, you know,” she rejoined. “ Please put my shawl 
around me. Count, and take us to the carriage, — I am 
dreadfully tired. How shall I get through the rest of 
the evening ?” 

“ Which being interpreted, is, * Stay at home, Hardeck, 
you have bored me enough for one day.’ ” 

“ On the contrary, it means be sure and come, so that 
I may have some assistance in entertaining the dull ones, 
— so au revoir.^' 

“ We must hurry, Ella,” said Edith, when we reached 
home ; “it is late.” 

“ I shall not go to the parlors this evening,” I answered. 
“ I am not well, and wish to retire immediately.” 


220 


ELEONORE. 


What is this I Do you want your lover^s rudeness to 
furnisli food for the gossips ?” 

“ 1 think the rudeness was on my part, or rather yours, 
mamma ; and as to the gossips, Count Hardeck is not 
one to speak of such a thing, and it will not be known, 
unless you take the trouble to publish it,’’ I answered, 
bitterly. 

She looked at me as if doubting her ears, and 
then answered, quietly, “ Your condition is rather 
alarming, — good-night I I hope you may be better 
soon.” 

I went to my room, dismissed Nannie, and sat down 
to a feast of sorrowful reflections. Concerning Walden- 
stein’s conduct I was completely in the dark, but the 
longer I thought of it, the firmer the conviction grew that 
Edith’s hand had wrought the mischief. But I would 
not suffer her thus to come between me and my dearest 
hopes, to defraud me of the happiness of a lifetime. 1 
would be perfectly frank with him, and no reserve on his 
part should, this time, deter me from seeking an explana- 
tion. If he gave me no opportunity of seeing him, I 
would send a message, through Hardeck, requesting an 
interview. 

The next day I apprehended a somewhat cool recep- 
tion from Edith after what had passed, but when I 
met her, before dinner, she was in a most complaisant 
humor. She congratulated me upon my recovery, ex- 
pressed the tenderest concern about my health, and 
assured me that henceforth she was going to look after it 
herself. 

“ What is there new ?” she asked, turning to Carola : 
“Have any letters come? I bad a frightful headache, 
and gave orders that no one should disturb me.” 

“ There were no letters, your Excellency, only a number 
of cards.” 

“ Bah I What tiresome people I They know I do not 
receive mornings. Show them to me, Carola, — let us 
know their names.” 

She took the visiting cards, and began turning them 
over carelessly. 

“ Strange !” she exclaimed, pausing over one of the 


ELEONORE. 


221 


last. “What has induced Herr von Waldenstein to pay 
an early visit, Ella ?” 

I caught my breath, but could not speak. 

“Ah! I see some letters here probably intended to 
signify a parting call. He is too good a German to use 
the ‘p. p. c.’ I presume he has gone away again on 
business for his sister, and will return soon.” 

“ He will not return, Edith 1” I cried, and the tears 
started to my eyes. “ You know he will not return.” 

“ I am not in the gentleman’s confidence,” she replied, 
coolly. “ But if your assertion be true, you have the 
more reason to hide your disappointment. When a lover 
abandons his suit for so slight a cause, you may safely 
infer he is tired of it.” 

My father’s entrance spared me a reply. 

“ You are suffering, my child,” said he, anxiously, “ and 
ought not to have left your room. I hope you do not 
think of remaining up this evening.” 

That was the one thing I did think of. I must see 
Hardeck, and beg him, if he could, to throw some light 
upon this dark page of my experience. So I forced a 
smile, and replied, gayly, — 

“Do not condemn me to solitary confinement, dear 
papa. It is true, I am not quite well, but cheerful society 
will be the best medicine I can have.” 

“ This chase after society is a positive disease with 
you women,” said he, frowning, — “ a fatal disease, too. 
Every rational being, at times, longs for solitude, but you 
flee it like the plague ; I suppose because it reveals the 
emptiness of your own souls.” 

If my father had accused me of the most heinous 
crime, it would have made no impression upon me. One 
thought alone filled my mind, and to everything else I 
was insensible. Count Hardeck came late, and the first 
words he said to me were of Waldenstein. 

“ Can vou tell me what has happened to him, Fräulein 
Ella?” he asked. 

I shook my head. 

“ This morning,” continued he, “ I received a couple 
of lines, saying that unexpected business called him 

19* 


ELEONORE. 


222 

home. I went at once to his hotel, but he had been gone „ 
some hours.” 

“ His business may have been very urgent,” I replied, 
with effort. 

He made a gesture of impatience. “We will not act 
a farce with each other, Fräulein Ella. If they have 
made you believe that Waldenstein is interested in Fräu- 
lein Armand, they have made you believe a falsehood. 

He is under great obligations to her father, and this it is 
that has prompted his attentions to the family. I happen 
to know, moreover, that the young lady is already be- 
trothed.” 

“ I never believed the report for a moment,” I an- 
swered, more steadily. 

“ Your reply makes my remark seem like impertinence, 

and yet — you know your associations — you know ” 

He stopped abruptly, hesitated, and then added, in a 
tone 1 had never heard him use before, “If Walden- 
stein’s departure has brought a shadow upon your heart, 
Ella, let me serve as mediator, and clear away the mis- 
understanding. I am selfish enough, God knows, but 
your happiness is more to me than my own.” 

A feeble smile was my only thanks for this noble offer. 
The explanation I so much desired had not been found, 
and how could I accept any mediation without knowing 
where I stood ? How could I thus proffer my love with 
the possibility, nay, the certainty, almost, of having it 
refused ? 

“ I am grieved, of course,” said I, hastily. “ Herr von 
Waldenstein has left me in anger, and I. would not 
willingly part from an old friend in that way.” 

The Count drew a deep breath. “ Then I can only 
pity him. But his anger will help him both to bear and 
conquer the disappointment, so do not burden your heart 
with it, Fräulein Ella.” 

I started. In shunning one breaker, I had dashed my- 
self recklessly against another. I had denied my love 
for Waldenstein, and excited thereby hopes as false as 
the words from which they sprung. This door was 
closed against me now, — closed by my own hand, and I 
must look elsewhere for assistance. Then came the 


ELEONORE. 


223 


thought of my aunt. He had sought me, doubtless with 
her consent and encouragement, and would impart to her 
the reason of his abrupt departure. I might write to her 
of the bouquet presented in her honor, detail its melan- 
choly fate, and ask her to inform the donor that I had 
not parted with it of my own free will. No confession 
was necessary, and I could introduce the subject in such 
a way as to screen my real motive for the communica- 
tion. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, this 
letter was written and sealed before I slept. It was a 
bungling composition, but on reading it over I felt that 
it would accomplish my purpose, and something almost 
like peace settled upon my soul. 

After this the stream of life flowed on as in weeks gone 
by, and to myself alone was the wreck upon its surface 
visible. Nannie watched the carrier faithfully, but no 
reply from Rutwitz reached me. Day after day came 
and went, and each morning hope spread its wings only 
to fold them at night over a repeated disappointment. 
At last all was dark. The future, that such a little while 
ago had glowed in my imagination like the Fata Mor- 
gana, now stretched before me a dull, dreary waste, 
wherein each forward step was heavy and full of pain. 
The light brought no cheer, and my vesper service was 
to thank God that another twenty-four hours had gone, 
and to pray Him that the weight of time might not op- 
press me much longer. Then a certain numbness of 
spirit crept over me, deadening alike pleasure and pain. 
The spring with its awakening joys quickened no pulse 
of my being. Buds and flowers, sunshine and laughing 
zephyr, had no message for me. Edith’s selflshness again 
subjected me to a semi-imprisonment, — but recreation 
seemed unnecessary now, when there was no waste of 
head or heart. I rarely went out beyond the garden, 
and, as our evening receptions were at an end, rarely 
saw any one except the immediate members of the 
family. 

I was both glad and sorry to lose Count Hardeck’s 
society, — glad to escape his questioning, and sorry be- 
cause he was the only person who cared for me, or en- 
tered at all into my feelings. He attributed my altered 


224 


ELEONORE. 


appearance to physical ailments, and ur^ed upon Edith 
the necessity of medical advice. She laughed at his 
anxiety, but finally called a physician. Nervous prostra- 
tion was the judgment rendered, — travel, a change of scene, 
and mineral baths, the prescription. Strange to say, this 
mode of treatment was not approved by mamma, although 
she was continually bewailing the dullness of the city. 
She could not think of leaving her husband, and his 
business kept him in town. So a compromise was ef- 
fected, and wo removed to a villa in the park, where 
there was fresh air and pleasant surroundings. The phy- 
sician appeared satisfied. I do not think he considered 
my case a dangerous one, — and I was glad to be spared 
the fatigue of a journey. 


XIX. 

The season was over. The theatres were closed, or 
if not, so hot that it was martyrdom to visit them, the 
opera disbanded, and all public amusement at an end for 
the summer. Edith declared she should die of ennai, 
but to my mind there was more danger of her killing 
every one else. To provide entertainment for a mind 
that has no resources within itself is at all times diffi- 
cult, and Carola’s office now became no sinecure. I 
could not help admiring the composure with which she 
bore the petulance and fault-finding of her mistress, and 
wondered sometimes that she should submit to it. As 
for myself, I kept out of the way ; a course of action 
which I have no doubt Edith appreciated, since she pro- 
nounced me horribly stupid, and my face of itself enough 
to give one the blues. I was not a little surprised, there- 
fore, when one afternoon she invited me to her parlor, 
saying it was so much cooler there than in my rooms. 
Of course I knew that was not the reason, and the ap- 
pearance of Count Hardeck, shortly after, explained her 
sudden regard for my comfort. 


ELEONORE. 


225' 


‘‘ Your coming is very apropos, Count I” said she, with 
more auimation than she had displayed for a long* time. 
“ Some good genius must have sent you here to-day.” 

A scarcely perceptible sneer curled upon his lips as he 
replied, “ Since that genius was yourself, Excellency, we 
may assume it to be good ” 

“ Oh, I had forgotten I I believe I did write a note, 
asking you to play cavalier to us this evening.” 

“ 1 am always ready for such service,” he replied, 
bowing low. “ In what particular does it lie, — pray in- 
form me ?” 

“We want you to take us to the circus. You know 
that is a place where ladies cannot go unattended, and I 
should never think of asking my husband, as busy as he 
is, to be our escort.” 

“ As I am unencumbered by business engagements, I 
will be his substitute with pleasure. What time shall I 
come for you ?” 

“ Come at no time, Hardeck, — you must remain to 
dinner with us. I have ordered it an hour earlier than 
usual, for 1 want to see the whole performance. Our 
lord and master will have to content himself to-day with 
a solitary meal.” 

“Allow me to wait and dine with him, mamma,” I in- 
terposed. “Carola will, I presume, accompany you?” 

“ What an idea, my dear ! No ; Carola can stay with 
your father.” 

I submitted, as I did to all her arrangements, and, be- 
sides, it w*as all the same to me whether I went or stayed. 

Edith had taken care to procure seats the day before, 
but, to my taste, they were the worst in the inclosure, — 
so near that the horses’ hoofs came in dangerous proximity 
to our persons, and the dust was smothering. 

“ You should have let your knight look out for the 
seats. Excellency,” said Hardeck, when we were seated. 
“ This is not the pleasantest situation you could have 
chosen.” 

“Oh, the dust is nothing, and I wanted to be where I 
could see well. . Do look at that bewitching little sylph 
on the other side. Count ! How graceful she is 1” 

“You seem in very fine spirits, Excellency,” replied 
K* 


226 


ELEONORE. 


the latter, dryly, without heeding her remark. The 
circus seems to have inspired you with remarkable en- 
thusiasm.’’ 

She laughed nervously. Soon the sylph and her train 
disappeared. Several indifferent performances followed, 
and then a pause ensued, during which the managers and 
servants bustled about with that important air which gen- 
erally precedes a debut of some distinguished actor. The 
audience began to cheer and clap vociferously, and in the 
midst of the applause the rider leaped into the ring. He 
was mounted on a splendid dark-chestnut horse, perfect 
in limb, and as delicate and lithe of muscle as an antelope. 
His eyeballs glowed and sparkled like fire, his nostrils 
trembled, and the sensitive flesh quivered now and then 
as if it felt in every fibre the degradation of bit and bridle. 
The horse absorbed my attention so entirely, that I did 
not bestow even a stray glance upon his master until an 
exclamation of surprise from Edith aroused me. 

That is Orlando from Florence, as I live I” she cried. 
“ What a surprise I” 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at our feet, I could not have 
been more terrified. The blood rushed to my heart and a 
deathly faintness seized me. Fortunately, Hardeck was 
too much occupied with his own thoughts to notice me, 
and Edith appeared to have forgotten that there were any 
unpleasant associations connected with the man. My 
position now became perfect torture. J dare not look up ; 
but I felt his impudent gaze fixed upon my face, and knew 
that his choicest feats of horsemanship were performed 
for the benefit of our party. At length this became too 
evident to escape observation. It seemed to me that the 
countless eyes of all that multitude were riveted upon 
me : that they knew my ugly secret, and were pointing 
their fingers at me in scorn. 

“ Abominable impertinence I” muttered Hardeck be- 
tween his teeth when he disappeared. 

“ Orlando oversteps his limits,” replied Edith. “ He 
forgets we are not in Italy.” 

“ He forgets nothing: he knows only too well that his 
presence here infuriates me. But he shall find out his 
mistake: 1 will give him to understand that such ma- 


ELEONORE. 


22t 


noeiivring goes for naught with me. I a,m sorry to sub- 
ject ladies to such annoyance: it might be inferred that 
they were tl»e objects of this particular attention.’’ 

“ I fear that is the case. But what is the matter, Ella ?” 
she continued, looking at me, “ You are as pale as a 
ghost.” 

“ Are you ill, Fräulein Ella?” asked Hardeck, anxiously. 
“ The heat is suffocating here; take my arm, and let me 
lead you into the fresh air. You ” 

“ So that you may finish attracting the attention of 
every one in the assembly,” interrupted Edith. “ I think 
we have good reason to shun further observation. Ella 
is surely brave enough to remain.” 

I saw she was right, and declined his assistance. 

“ If that fellow’s impertinence has rendered you at all 
uncomfortable, Fräulein Ella,” added Hardeck, after a 
pause, “let me assure you that I was the sole object of 
it : a slight exhibition of family affection, — that is all. I 
have the good fortune to be a cousin of this celebrated 
artist. Our mothers were sisters ; but I am, I grieve to 
say, so insensible to the honor of the relationship that he 
would be turned out of my house, if he presumed to cross 
its threshold. He communicates with me regularly by 
letter, informing me at one time that he will send a bullet 
through his head if I do not sacrifice a stipulated sum 
upon the altar of kindred love ; and again that he has 
immediate prospects of marrying a wealthy heiress, and 
would like a few hundreds to assist him in prosecuting 
the suit. My banker has repeatedly supplied these de- 
mands ; but the heiress is not yet won, nor has any harm 
befallen his curly head. He has found out recently that 
I am no longer to be managed in this way, and now he 
means to force me through my pride. But he may go on, 
and play the clown if he likes, jump through hoops, stand 
on his head, or balance a pole on his nose, for aught I 
care: I shall have nothing more to do with him.” 

I hardly knew whether to consider this connection be- 
tween the Count and Kollner fortunate or unfortunate for 
myself. It had, apparently, thrown the latter across my 
path again ; but, on the other hand, there was a kind of 
protection in it, since fear of exciting his cousin’s anger 


228 


ELEONORE. 


and thereby depriving himself of the expected remittances, 
would prevent him from giving me serious annoyance. 

The very next day, as I was sitting on the balcony, 
Kollner passed the villa and saluted me with a pompous 
familiarity that made my cheeks crimson with indigna- 
tion and alarm. I retired at once ; but he continued to 
])arade up and down the avenue several times, gazing at 
the window through which I had vanished, and drawing 
upon himself the notice of every one who passed. He 
had been gone but a short time, when Edith unceremoni- 
ously entered my room. 

“ I am glad to find you recovered from your yesterday’s 
illness, Ella,” said she, — “ the more so, as Carola has just 
enlightened me concerning its cause. I had forgotten your 
unfortunate connection with Orlando. Hardeck is mis- 
taken, I fear, — his presence here, probably, has more to 
do with you than him. I need not explain how preju- 
dicial, — yes, how dangerous to your reputation this is, 
and I have come to consult with you, seriously, as to 
what we shall do. Regard for yourself is not the only 
consideration, remember; for your father’s sake, you 
must save yourself from the insults of this man. You 
would, I am sure, spare him, if possible, the mortifica- 
tion of seeing his daughter’s name disgraced by its 
association with that of a ring-rider ; you ” 

“ Say no more, mamma,” I interposed, with as much 
composure as I could command. “If you yourself will 
not be convinced of my innocence in this association, as 
you call it, grant me, at least, the favor of silence. I am 
grateful for your interest, but my father is the one to 
protect me, and I shall apprise him at once of my danger.” 

“ You talk like an unreasonable child, Ella. What 
can your father do, I would ask? He is occupied all 
day, and, besides, in such a case his protection would be 
of little use, — only a husband or betrothed can inter- 
fere effectually. There is no doubt of your affection for 
Count Hardeck, and it is just as evident that but a little 
encouragement fromi you will bring him to a decision. I 
do hope that you will act promptly, and relieve yourself 
and the family from further embarrassment. But, aside 
from this, it is highly desirable that matters be brought 


ELEONORE. 


229 


to a close. This dallying and hesitation troubles your 
father, — with all his partiality, he attributes it to coquetry, 
and you can easily guess what the world’s judgment is.” 

With this comforting suggestion she retired. Her 
calm, earnest manner was something quite new to me, 
and what she said made, therefore, the deeper impression. 
There was truth, also, at the bottom of it. My engage- 
ment to Count Hardeck would secure me against all harm, 
and yet, kindly disposed as I was towards him, I could not 
choose such a refuge. Why must Edith point out to me, 
as tlie only means of escape, one that I neither could nor 
would consider for a moment? My old distrust of her 
blazed up afresh. It was all an artfully-laid plan. She 
knew before we went to the circus whom we were to see 
there, perhaps she had herself sent for Kollner, in order 
to force me into this marriage. This thought aroused my 
opposition. I resolved to thwart her nicely-arranged 
scheme. 

I would seek Count Hardeck’s assistance, as she had 
advised, but without giving him any right to act for me 
beyond that of a friend. I did not conceal from myself 
the fact that this step might be grossly misinterpreted, 
but I was too firmly persuaded of tlie Count’s high honor 
to fear any advantage taken of it by him, and as for 
other people, I did not care very much what they thought. 
How to see him alone was the chief difficulty, and here 
chance favored me. The next morning, as I was taking 
my customary promenade in the garden, he passed through 
the little street that lay behind it, and, hastily beckoning 
to him, I ran and opened the gate for his admission. 

“ I am so glad fate led you this way, Count Hardeck,” 
said I, falteringly. “ I was upon the point of sending 
for you. I need your help.” 

He looked up with surprise, and his pale face grew 
somewhat paler as he replied. — 

“ Something very extraordinary must have occurred to 
make you seek my assistance in this way, Fräulein Ella.” 

“ It would seem so,” said I, still master of myself. 

I want to ask your protection against a man who per- 
secutes me continually ; who is determined to destroy my 
reputation, and to- 


20 


230 


ELEONORE. 


I could go no further, the tears came and choked my 
words. 

“ Tell me the name of this man, Ella,” said he, in his 
quiet, even tones, “ and I pledge my word you shall be 
troubled by him no longer.” 

“ You know him,” I answered, sobbing heavily. “ That 
circus-rider, whose insolence you thought directed to your- 
self, — it was revenge upon me.” 

Hardeck’s manner changed instantly. “What!” he 
exclaimed. “Do I understand rightly? Has that villain 
dared to make you the object of his attentions, dared to 
insult you in my presence ?” 

“ I have a long story to tell you, Count Hardeck, and a 
very painful one to me. Can you listen to it?” 

Instead of replying to my question, he glanced at the 
windows uneasily, and then pointing to a seat among the 
bushes, said, “ Let us stop here, Fräulein Ella, where we 
cannot be seen from the house, otherwise the chances of 
being left to ourselves are small, — and please send your 
maid away, — she can remain within call, only tell her to 
keep out of sight. I dislike a third party in an interview 
of this kind.” ^ 

I looked at him sharply. His whole appearance con- 
firmed what I had long ago suspected, viz., that beneath 
the calm exterior which he always presented there was 
hidden a nature impulsive, enthusiastic, and passionate. 
To satisfy him, I gave Nannie a signal to retire, and sat 
down where he directed. 

“Now, Ella, quick! How came you acquainted with 
this wretched scaiiip ?” 

It was very hard for me to reopen this dark chapter 
of my life, but Hardeck’s impatience permitted no hesita- 
tion. As I proceeded, his face gradually assumed such 
an expression of fierce hate and revenge that it frightened 
me, and stopping abruptly in my narration, I turned away 
from him with a shudder. 

“ Do not mind me, Ella,” said he, with a forced laugh. 
“ There are moments which even habit cannot govern. 
Y^ou must forgive me if on this occasion I show myself 
too plainly. But you need have no fears that I shall 
lose my self-control entirely. I am too well trained for 


ELEONORE. 


231 


that; and however strong the temptation may be to put 
a bullet through my cousin’s handsome head, rest assured 
I can resist it.” 

He listened then more quietly until I finished, question- 
ing me particularly as to the proofs of Carola’s participa- 
tion in the affair, and the time of Kollner’s first appearance 
at Rutwitz. 

1 thank you for this proof of confidence, Ella, and ap- 
preciate how much it has cost you. I am glad it is in my 
power to save you from the hands of this worthless man. 
If I could only as easily silence the rest of your torment- 
ors, — if I only had your permission to do so 1 Oh, never 
fear,” he added, observing my startled look, “ I shall not 
speak of my love now, — that would be an abuse of privi- 
lege of which I am incapable, whatever else I may have 
to reproach myself with.” Then, as if desirous of chang- 
ing the subject, he asked, hastil}", “ Did you ever notice a 
resemblance between me and this celebrated ring-rider ?” 

“Certainly, it was that which first drew my attention 
to you.” 

“Ah, indeed I You must have been attracted to one 
whose exterior awakened such delightful recollections. It 
may be I have this to thank for my hard struggle after a 
victory in which, for the first time, my heart is enlisted, — 
usually such conquests come to me without much effort. 
You see, Fräulein Ella, human, or to be more gallant, 
manly, vanity is inextirpable. It finds excuses for its 
most signal defeats, and its sweet self-complacency is not 
easily disturbed. Leave Kollner to me, and Fräulein Carola 
might better beware, — she forgets the advice of the wise 
p]cclesiasticus about throwing stones on high. Be kind 
enough to let me out as I came, — there are vigilant eyes 
yonder which I prefer to shun.” 

I summoned Nannie to unfasten the gate, and watched 
him as he walked down the path, leisurely and firmly, 
without a trace of the storm through which he had just 
passed. I did not regret the step I had taken, and there 
was a happy feeling of relief from the anxiety of the past 
few days, but at the same time, a something in this inter- 
view vvhich made me uncomfortable. True, he had re- 
spected my confidence, and uttered no word that need 


232 


ELEONORE. 


trouble me ; still, the light way in which he spoke of his 
defeat showed how surely he counted upon the final 
result, and that he probably took this confidence as a 
favorable omen for the future. I heartily wished it was in 
my power to love him, to give him authority to release 
me from the purgatory that my father’s house had gradu- 
ally become. But, alas I one may conquer emotions, never 
create them, and there was little hope of my heart’s yield- 
ing to such wishes. 

Count Hardeck must have seen Kollner immediately, 
for the dreaded horseman did not show himself again, and 
a few days after, I heard the former say to Edith, laugh- 
ingly,— 

“How can you live here so contentedly, Excellency, 
when the city is in a state of such feverish excitement ?” 

“ What is the matter ?” she asked, curiously. 

“ Have you not seen those huge posters, announcing 
to the startled citizens the farewell appearance of the re- 
nowned equestrian, Orlando? — who, in spite of tears and . 
broken hearts, accepts an invitation to St. Petersburg.” 

The eyes of the speaker were fastened intently upon his 
fair listener, and 1 think the look troubled her, ior she 
turned from him somewhat petulantly : 

“Well, he knew how to win his way with the public, — 
he was a declared favorite after the first night.” 

“ Of course, — it was this sudden popularity, I suppose, 
which drew your Excellency to the circus, and gave me 
thereby some personal knowledge of the brilliant star. It 
is a pity it sets so soon, but the Duke von Licherfeld 
has engaged him as groom of his stables, and his Grace 
leaves the city to-morrow.” 

“ Then you sent him away I” exclaimed Edith, with 
flashing eyes. “ I thought his actions gave you no con- 
cern.” 

“ There are bounds to everything, your Excellency, and 
he overstepped those laid down for him, by a long stride. 
Still, I should not have imposed him upon a stranger. 
The Duke was formerly his superior officer, knows his 
antecedents well, and will not be troubled about his 
morals.” 

Hardeck never once glanced at me during this conver- 


ELEONORE. 


233 


sation, as if it were a matter in which I took no interest, 
but later in the evening, when the rooms were better 
filled, he found an opportunity to whisper, “ Are you 
satisfied, Ella? Poor child! You have no protection 
against me but myself. If you would but trust to it, 
fearlessly, I would fight for you, even against that enemy.” 


XX. 

Summer was now at its height. My father had been 
closely confined to business ever since his appointment, 
and was beginning to feel the need of that rest and rec- 
reation which the country alone affords. He proposed 
going to Rutwitz for the remainder of the hot weather, 
but this met with so little encouragement from his wife, 
in fact, was so opposed by her, that it had to be given 
up. At last it was decided to take up our abode, tem- 
porarily, at Kronenberg. This was my mother’s birth- 
place, and, together with the lands adjoining, had formed 
a large part of her dowry. The order was sent to have 
the castle fitted up for the reception of the family, and, 
that everything might be done for the comfort of her 
husband, Edith announced her intention of preceding him 
thither by a day or two. I was astonished at this un- 
usual thoughtfulness on her part, but the reason of it 
soon came to light. 

“1 suppose you do not care, Robert, if I invite a few 
friends to join us at Kronenberg?” said she, one morning 
at breakfast. “A little society is quite indispensable to 
me, and we cannot shut our sweet child entirely from the 
world. Life would be unendurable to her without the 
Count, and, as we could not single him out alone, 1 asked 
a few others. Do lu^t trouble yourself about the arrange- 
ments, — I will attend to them all. 1 hope for some most 
delightful days at this quiet country home, and trust you 
will return quite invigorated.” 

My father, of course, consented, although his pleasure 
20 * 


234 


ELEONORE. 


was half-spoiled by the means. As for myself, since we 
could not go to Rutwitz, I was rather glad not to be 
alone, and glad that Hardeck was included in the party. 
That interview in the garden had wrought an essential 
change in my relations lo him. We were freer and more 
confidential in our intercourse, better acquainted witheaeh 
other, and less dependent upon outward forms and civili- 
ties. When alone with him he always called me Ella, and 
the familiarity was pleasant to me. Sometimes he spoke 
of his love, but never in a way to occasion me embarrass- 
ment, or excite in my mind troublesome questionings as 
to a responsive feeling. He rallied me upon my coldness, 
my stony heart that could not be softened, and ä la 
Werther laughed at his own passion so freely that I felt 
perfectly at ease with him. Occasionally, it is true, I 
trembled when I thought how closely all this was bind- 
ing me to him, that it deprived me of the power to say 
‘‘no” when he asked me seriously to be his wife, but 
my way was so hedged up, that I could not break the 
toils. 

We found the castle and park at Kronenberg in a 
much better condition than we anticipated. The former 
was built in the Italian style, and with its pillared port- 
als, broad stairways, and spacious verandas, seemed 
specially fitted for a summer residence. For once in her 
life Edith was actually busy, making preparations for her 
expected guests and planning festivities for their entertain- 
ment. Her spirits, too, were in fine tune ; it was grati- 
fying to her ambition to be* mistress of this princely 
mansion, and she greatly lamented her moderation in 
confining the invitations to twenty people. At last they 
came, my father preceding his score of guests by only a 
few hours. Then began the same old routine, with merely 
a change of scene, and whether we lounged und^er the 
grand old trees, or idled away our time in the drawing- 
rooms, our conversation was as far removed from thought 
and sense as the possession of any intellect at all would 
permit. I had to laugh when I compared this experience 
of country-life with my former one at Rutwitz Even 
the voice of Nature did not fall upon my ear now as it 
did then, — the spell of her enchantment was broken. 


ELEONORE. 


235 


Before we had been at Kronenberg a week, I received 
a letter from my aunt, — the first one that had reached 
me since Waldenstein’s return. It had already been 
opened, and so, of course, contained nothing of impor- 
tance. She complained because I made no allusion to 
previous communications on her part, and reproached 
me gently for my neglect. 

“I conclude, dear Lora,” she continued, “you have 
lost your interest in the people here ; still, I hope Alma 
may prove an exception. She is a blooming, happy bride, 
and, at her wedding, really looked beautiful. As for the 
bridegroom, although I cannot see him with her fond 
^ycs, yet this much I concede gladly, that he is a man of 
noble principles, tender heart, and pleasing address. He 
has changed greatly since you saw him, and that de- 
cidedly for the better : having acquired a certain self- 
respect and reliance, which enables him to meet the 
world with more confidence in himself, and less concern 
about its judgments. Mamma Miiller is delighted with 
her son’s choice ; Willibald could not have given her a 
daughter more after her own heart. It seems as if the 
young people of the neighborhood had been seized with 
a mania for setting up independent households. Tauen- 
feld’s engagement to Bella Windhem you know already, 
and now the report is that Hugo Waldenstein is to marry 
his lovely little niece,* of whom I have told you so much 
There is every reason to believe this is true. Pie calls 
her the sunshine of his house, and, as he is at home most 
of the time, it is easy to guess that this sunshine is the 
magnet. The ceremony of betrothal is to take place as 
soon as the year of mourning for her father expires. 
You will rejoice with me over this, I am sure, my dear 
Lora, and pray, as I do, that Hugo may find with her 
the happiness which you could not grant him.” 

It certainly was not joy that made the letter fall from 
my trembling hands, and caused my heart to throb so 
wildly. Hope for myself was long ago dead, and yet I 


* This degree of consanguinity does not hinder marriage in 
Germany. — T b. 


236 


ELEONORE. 


never dreamed he could bestow his love upon another. 
A short half year had sufficed to erase my ima^^e from 
his heart, and enshrine there a new object of affection. 
Alas, how ephemeral is everything* of mortal birth I 
Can there be aught steadfast or enduring when the 
warmest, deepest emotions of the soul so soon fade away, 
put off like a garment that is outgrown ? How could I 
acknowledge to myself that this man, half-deified by my 
love, was a fickle, inconstant being? How could I tear 
him from the high pinnacle where that love had placed 
him ? Xheo gi’ief leaped into indignation. I had 
been deceived, mocked, insulted. While I lay groaning 
in despair, his wounded heart was being healed by tlie 
sweet smiles of another. I was ashamed of my weak- 
ness. Henceforth I would live above it, forget what lay 
behind, and demand, as a right, the happiness so long 
withheld. With strange inconsistency, however, while 
I thus bade defiance to the anguish that tortured me, 
the hot, burning tears burst forth, and I wept long and 
bitterly. 

When the storm was past, I arose, bathed my face in 
cold water, and did all I could to remove the traces of 
weeping. Edith knew what was in the letter, and I 
would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how deep 
a wound it had inflicted. Her searching glance as I 
entered the breakfast-room nerved me to greater com- 
posure, and I was quite astonished at my unusual flow 
of spirits. I escaped from the company, however, at 
the first possible moment, and ran out into the park 
to find some retired corner, where I could be myself 
again. I sat there for a long time dreamily watching 
the sunlight as it danced upon the turf, or following 
the clouds in their airy flight through the deep-blue sky, 
when the sound of footsteps startled me, and, looking 
around, I saw Count Hardeck approaching my hiding- 
place. 

“What brought you here?” I inquired, rather curtly. 

“ It is a day of wonders, Ella,” he replied, taking a 
seat by my side. “ You have been puzzling me all the 
morning by your excessive gayety, and now Edith has 
actually sent me after you.” 


ELEONORE. 


237 


Edith sent you after me I” I repeated, with astonish- 
ment. 

“ Yes ; she pretended to want you for something. But 
as it was a predetermined fact that when I found you 
I would remain where you were, instead of bringing 
you back with me, I pronounce her conduct absolutely 
miraculous. Tell me, Ella, what has happened again 
to-day to give you pain, and severe pain, too, or you 
would not have been so merry 

“ You are mistaken. Count Hardeck. On the contrary, 
I have received most agreeable news to-day. I ” 

“Ah, Ella, you know Count Hardeck is seldom mis- 
taken in you. Why will you waste the few minutes we 
are permitted to be together in such quibbling? Think, 
I must leave to-morrow, and may not see you again for 
months.” 

“ To-morrow 1” I exclaimed, with a start, and an in- 
ward shudder at the lonely days in store for me. 

He looked at me intently for an instant, and then drop- 
ping his eyes said, in an altered tone, “Your guests 
wisely take their departure then, in order to leave the 
family a little while to themselves, and — well, I belong 
to the guests, not the family.” 

The conversation had taken an unexpected, and, to me, 
very undesirable turn. I felt what was coming, and 
tried to ward it off, but it was of no use ; my beseeching 
looks did not restrain him. 

“ Why do you not love me, Ella?” he continued, fast- 
ening his eyes steadily upon me. “ Does that unfortunate 
resemblance still stand between us ?” 

I shook my head: “ I believe the capacity for loving 
has been taken from me. Count Hardeck. You know 
how highly I esteem you, how implicitly I trust you, — 
yes, I confess, too, that 1 could hardly live without you. 
Be satisfied with this, and do not ask for more.” 

He was silent for a few moments, and then said, with 
a smile, “ I think, Ella, you and 1 stand to each other 
in the strangest relations imaginable ; only my part is 
compulsory, while yours is natural.” Again a silence 
ensued. “ What will you say, Ella, when I tell you that 
I am satisfied with what you can give me ?” 


238 


ELEONORE. 


“ Count Hardeck, have you ” 

“There, Ella, that Count Hardeck always brings me 
to a realizing sense of the distance between us. But you 
have acknowledged even more than I dared to hope, — 
you have assured me that my presence was not only 
agreeable, but necessary to you. There must be some 
definite cause which prevents this kind feeling from 
warming into love, and I believe it exists in your father’s 
house. To remove the obstacle I must moderate my pre- 
tensions, and seek my wife without love. My conclusion 
is perfectly clear to you, is it not ?” 

It was very clear to me, and, despite the false premises 
upon which it was built, touched me deeply. This man, 
so spoiled and petted, to whom the fairest, proudest 
maiden in the country would joyfully have given her 
hand, was willing to accept from me a miserable friend- 
ship, and work and wait for my love. Why had I seen 
Waldenstein first? — why had I seen him at all ? Were it 
not for him, my heart would yield to Hardeck’s wooing, 
and we should both be happy. And even now, — dare I 
cast aside the saving hand extended to me? Might I not, 
by sheer strength of will, succeed in rooting out this un- 
fortunate attachment, and then gratitude alone would 
seal my devotion to this friend and helper? 

“You keep me waiting a long time for my answer, 
Ella,” said the Count, breaking in upon my bewildering 
conjectures. 

“ I wish you had not asked it of me,” I replied, with not 
half his composure. “ I feel too keenly that you deserve 
something better than this.” 

“ Leave the estimate of its worth to me, Ella,” he an- 
swered, taking my hand in his. “ Will you let this be 
my ally, and help me thus to win your heart ?” 

“ I fear we are intruders, Robert,” exclaimed Edith’s 
voice, close by, — “ or, no,” she continued, and its tones 
took a harsh ring, “ we are just in time to bestow our 
parental blessing.” 

The softened expression upon Hardeck’s features 
vanished instantly. He sprang from his seat, and, ad- 
dressing my father, said, with evident irritation, “ Her 
Excellency is wrong. It is true I have asked your 


ELEONORE. 


239 


daughter’s hand, but she has given me no right to solicit 
a parental blessing, and, since your presence may be a 
restraint upon her, I waive my request for an answer.” 

“ You are too modest, dear Count,” rejoined my father, 
laughing. “ If you are in doubt as to my daughter’s 
feeling towards you, the rest of us are not, and 1 give 
you unhesitatingly, in her name, the desired promise. 
That is right, is it not, my little Lora ?” he added, turn- 
ing to me. 

I threw myself into his arms, and hung sobbing 
around his neck. He talked to me kindly, affectionately, 
kissed my forehead and eyes, and then put me gently 
from him, as it seemed, with the intention of consigning 
me to the embrace of my betrothed ; but the latter drew 
back quickly, and merely taking my hand, carried it 
respectfully to his lips. Edith, who, calculating upon the 
effect of the intelligence conveyed in my letter, had un- 
doubtedly arranged this scene, now looked anything but 
pleased at the success of her plan. She muttered a few 
words of congratulation, said something about being too 
exclusive, and drew her husband hurriedly away. We 
followed in silence. Hardeck never looked up, and the 
wrinkles upon his brow showed that all was not calm 
within, — he, probably, comprehended now the miraculous 
conduct of his hostess. 

As we neared the house, he stopped suddenly: “I 
think we are agreed, Ella, that it is not expedient to take 
the whole company into our confidence. If you think the 
Minister has any idea of mentioning what has occurred, 
pray speak to him, — we do not want the day spoiled 
entirely.” 

When I went to my room to dress for dinner, there lay 
that letter upon the floor. I picked it up, lighted the gas, 
and, holding the sheet in. the flame, watched it slowly 
shrivel, blacken, and fall. The temptation to read it 
again was now gone. Henceforth I could not think 
upon that part of my past without sin, — forgetfulness 
was a duty. 

On meeting the Count in the evening, I experienced a 
restraint quite unusual in my intercourse with him, but 
his easy nonchalance soon reassured me. No one would 


240 


ELEONORE. 


have suspected from word or look on his part, that we 
were more to each other than we had been the day 
before. But, again, he did not neglect to put me in mind 
of it. 

“ I can remain here now, Ella,” he whispered, softly, 
on finding himself near me; “and you have no con- 
ception how happy it makes me. I have been sighing 
over my departure like a sentimental school-girl.” 

Certainly this was the brightest spot to me in the 
whole affair. I had a sense of security in his presence 
that was almost peace, and, singularly enough, I soon 
learned that I stood more in need of his protection than 
before. Edith, to whose wishes I had at last yielded, 
and from whom, in consequence, I expected more favor, 
behaved exactly to the contrary. Her former dislike 
seemed now increased to positive hatred, and those blue 
eyes glared at me, in unguarded moments, with a look 
that fairly chilled my blood. Previous to our engage- 
ment, she had taken the greatest pains to throw me in 
Hardeck’s society, and now, her aim evidently was to 
keep us apart. She devoted herself to his entertainment, 
and monopolized him so entirely, that I sometimes 
thought she had forgotten my existence. The Count 
received this attention rather ungraciously, and adept 
though he was in the art of self-control, his impatience 
would occasionally manifest itself. Then upon my poor 
head fell the consequences, and my frivolity, unwomanly 
conduct, and disgraceful vanity received a verbal casti- 
gation quite perplexing to a simple understanding. I 
submitted with long-practiced resignation to my fate, but 
that was a virtue with which my Romeo was not at all 
familiar. He sought and found a confederate in my 
father, and cunningly used him as a foil to her Excellency. 
A few playful hints sufficed to give the grave Minister a 
clue to his part, and he entered upon it so heartily that 
Edith’s conjugal devotion was, for once, put to a severe 
test. 

All was plain sailing after this with Count Hardeck 
and myself. The same open, cordial manner still ruled 
between us, and except that he spoke oftener and more 
seriously of his affection for me, we were good friends. 


ELEONORE. 


241 


nothing' more. We made plans for the future, and I 
listened to the glowing pictures he drew as I would to 
a beautiful fairy-tale. We were togetlier in Italy, revel- 
ing in all the glory of nature and art. We betook our- 
selves to Paris, and drank deep of the intoxicating 
pleasures which this modern Circe prepares for her re- 
tainers. Then we crossed the Pyrenees, and the Alham- 
bra with all its wonders rose before us, or we basked for 
a season beneath the sunny skies of Seville, — while at 
times we grew realistic, practical, and took up our al)ode 
in a substantial mansion, at the west end of London. 
Everywhere Hardeck was at home, and he took great 
delight in the thought of introducing me to all these dif- 
ferent places and scenes. 

Thus the long summer days passed away, and although 
the “joys of life” was a meaningless expression to me, 1 
was contented, — nay, even sometimes dreamed of a happy 
future. Close by the being-happy stands the making- 
happy, and the consciousness that this latter was com- 
mitted to my charge, began to give a brighter coloring 
to my dull world. Besides, I had a feeling of greater 
freedom than ever before under my father’s roof. Editli, 
to be sure, grew more and more infuriated against me, 
but I was in a measure out of her power, and so long as 
Hardeck remained, had nothing to fear. 

The announcement that the gentlemen were going to 
return to the city a few days before the rest of the family 
interrupted this pleasant state of afiairs, and struck me 
with positive terror. What would become of me if left 
alone, a prey to the fury of this unreasonable woman ? 
I could not imagine why she had consented to remain, 
unless it was for the sake of having an opportunity to 
torment me undisturbed, and the very thought of her 
violence made me turn pale. Again 1 fled to Count Har- 
deck for help. 

“I hope your resolution to return with my father is 
not irrevocable,” said I, tremblingly, the first moment I 
found myself alone with him. “I shall oppose my en- 
treaties, and beg you to stay with me.” 

“ Do not ask me, Ella,” he answered, drawing a deep 
breath. “ It is useless, I munt go.” 

L 21 


242 


ELEONORE. 


“And what is this stern must, so much stronger than 
my wishes 

“ My own will, — my ’’ he stopped suddenly, and, . 

bending over me, added, in a voice of wonderful tender- 
ness, “ You know, Ella, I need no urging to stay with 
you, — it is my paradise. Let it prove to you how imper- 
ative the necessity that I tear myself away.” 

I did not understand what he meant, nor did I try to 
do so. Edith, in her demoniac beauty, stood before me, 
and I saw nothing else. I was like a child about to be 
left alone in the dark, and, childlike, I burst into tears. 
For an instant he looked at me with a sort of bewildered 
amazement, and then uttering a half-smothered cry of joy 
clasped me in his arms. I felt his hot breath against my 
cheek, and heard the quickened beatings of that passion- 
ate heart, more wholly mine, perhaps, than anything on 
earth, — but only a moment. He released me before I 
could say a word. 

“ 1 should not envy a monarch his throne, Ella, if those 
tears were for me. You must not weep before me,” he 
added, with a sickly smile. “It unmans me entirely.” 

I saw that, but fear made me base enough to take ad- 
vantage of his weakness. I lifted my swimming eyes to 
his face, and, stretching out my hands, cried, imploringly, 

“ Do not leave me, Rudolph, — I cannot let you go 1” 

He did not answer immediately, and when he spoke 
his voice sounded weak and unnatural : “You have con- 
quered, Ella, though it has cost me a terrible struggle. 
Oh, if you have a single spark of love for me let me take 
you away from this horrid place, — be my wife at once, 
and give me the right to stand by you !” 

His manner troubled me, and I found an excuse to 
leave' him. Selfish mortal that I was, I used his love 
to shield me, and yet shrank from even listening to its 
appeals I 


ELEONORE. 


243 


XXL 

My father’s absence, as I expected, put an end to any 
more confidential talks with Hardeck, but it acted upon 
Edith like a charm. She resumed her attentions to him, 
and made a feeble attempt to reinstate herself in my favor, 
but I repelled all advances. The very atmosphere in 
which she moved was stifling to me, and I spent most of 
my time in my room. As I sat by the window one morning, 
enjoying the dreamy autumn sunshine, Carola unexpect- 
edly entered. The sight of her face awoke a presentiment 
of evil, and, springing from my seat, I exclaimed, faintly, — 

“What is it, Carola ? What new misfortune ?” 

“ None,” she replied, sternly. “ I have come to save 
you from misfortune, but you must fir.st hear my explana- 
tion.” 

“ First !” I cried, frantically. “ No, tell me first what 
has happened, — what have I to fear ?” 

“ Nothing at all, if you follow my advice,” said she, 
with that familiar stretching of her lips. “But in order 
to give you this advice, I am compelled to be somewhat 
circumstantial.” She drew up a ehair and sat down, 
while I mechanically followed her example. “You have 
looked upon me as your enemy, Fräulein Ella,” she began, 
after a slight pause, “but I am not. I liked you at first, 
and only your evident aversion changed that feeling to 
indifference. You guessed pretty accurately my connec- 
tion with Kollner, but you mistook the motive that in- 
fluenced me. His advantage, of course, was my main 
object, l)ut in promoting that I did not intend to injure 
you. I have known him from childhood, — he is my cou- 
sin as well as Count Hardeck’s, — and his faults are by no 
means inexpiable. He is weak, like many others, easily 
led into extravagances, and, unfortunately, poor. Marriage 
would have a good effect upon him, I reasoned, especially 
if it brought him a fortune. But I did not act from dis- 
interested regard for him alone, — there was selfishness at 
the bottom. From girlhood I have been betrothed to a 
man whom I love, whom I ’’she hesitated, and then. 


244 


ELEONORE. 


raising her eyes to mine, continued, solemnly, “What- 
ever you may think of me, Ella, believe in the truth, the 
holiness of this love 1 It may be the only noble part of 
my being, but it is spotless and sincere, and the trials 
which it has brought upon me have embittered my whole 
life. My betrothed was a violinist, and never w^'ere sweeter 
tones enticed from that instrument than by his hand. In 
the early part of our engagement, he was thrown from 
a horse and broke his wrist, broke it so badly that he 
could not continue his profession. But his whole soul 
was in music, and he had no other means of support. He 
tried to give lessons, but failed, — a lack of patience spoiled 
him for a teacher, — and now — now he earns a paltry sub- 
sistence by copying notes. You see, Ella, I was not act- 
ing when Kollner mounted Felix Windhem’s Schönrö- 
schen, — it reminded me too vividly of my blasted hopes. 
Edgar released me from my promise at once; but I would 
not have it so, and undertook myself to provide for us 
both. It was little I could save from the salary of a gov- 
erness or companion, and my brain was racked with all 
sorts of projects for increasing my income, when the propo- 
sition came to assist Köllner in his designs upon you. 
My sister was an old school friend of Edith’s and the 
confidante of all her plans. From the first you were looked 
upon as an encumbrance, and she often expressed the 
hope that a speedy marriage would relieve her of the bur- 
den of a stepdaughter. Still, there was the disagreeable 
fact that your father would be made some hundreds of 
thousands poorer by such an event. Our wishes grow 
with fulfillment, — that is a law of compensation in this 
world, — and Edith thought it very hard to be restricted 
to a sum that would have once seemed a fortune to her. 
In your childhood she meant well by you. She separated 
you from your relatives and won your young heart 
merely to obtain unlimited influence over you, which, if 
occasion required, could be used to her advantage. Your 
father’s determination to secure to you every dollar of 
your mother’s property she seemed to consider a personal 
grievance, a disregard of her comfort, and out of it grew the 
feeling that she had the right to help herself. This care of 
self often makes us call in the assistance of the devil ; and as 


ELEONORE. 


245 ' 


time passed on, she applied to that obliging* individual for 
advice. The decision was to marry you to some one 
forthwith, and when that was accomplished, she would 
bring your father to see his injustice towards herself and 
repair it. Rudolph Kollner, or Orlando, as the play-bills 
styled him, was then in Florence, and all the rage among 
the ladies. Edith soon learned his name and history, 
both of which struck her as eminently fitted for her pur- 
pose. She communicated with him through my sister, 
and the preliminaries were speedily settled. You were 
sent to your aunt as the most convenient theatre for this 
little play, and he went to that part of the country to pur- 
chase an estate. I was to join him as aide-de-camp, pro- 
vided the young lady pleased him. In a few days a let- 
ter came informing me that he was up to the ears in love 
with you, and hoped to get along without my help. This 
was a terrible disappointment, for the sum promised for 
my services was a little fortune to poor Edgar and my- 
self, — later, however, a dispatch was received summon- 
ing me immediately to Rutwitz. Before I had been there 
twenty-four hours I discov’-ered that Köllner’s prospect of 
winning you was small, and' that sending you to your 
aunt had been a decided mistake. I wrote at once to 
Edith telling her how matters stood, and advising her — 
yes, Ella, I was honest enough for that — to abandon the 
scheme altogether. What do you suppose it was in this 
message that specially irritated my amiable mistress ? 
Her dear daughter’s lack of taste in not admiring so 
handsome and fascinating a man, — he resembled his cou- 
sin strikingly, and therefore must be irresistible. The 
plan was not to be given up but pushed ä Voutrance. She 
had already disposed of you in her mind, and to review a 
thing once settled was in the highest degree unpleasant 
to her. Then came the discovery of his past life, and of 
course with it the certainty that our project could not be 
carried on above-board. Rudolph did visit me upon my 
invitation that night, when you thought there were rob- 
bers in the house, heard what had happened, and, to his 
credit be it said, wanted to leave the place directly. But 
he really loved you, and his distress touched me so deeply, 
that I promised to see what could be done for him. The 

21 * 


246 


ELEONORE. 


next day I sent this message to Florence : ‘ The past is dis~ 
covered, — no hope of success. Is it still ä Voutrance V Ina 
few hours the laconic reply was returned, .‘J VoutranceJ 
Then I arranged what you know only too well, Ella. 
Rudolph was easily persuaded that you were not wholly 
indifferent to him, and that when the first fright was over, 
you would be glad of a bridge across the Rubicon which 
you dare not voluntarily pass. The anxiety, the remorse, I 
felt while with old Kate, was terrible, and I assure you, 
when I returned to the castle and found you sitting there 
safe upon the sofa, a genuine thanksgiving arose from my 
heart. 

“ By this act I was fully committed to Edith’s service, 
and I resolved to play my part to the end. For you to 
remain at Rutwitz was fatal to our plans. I had all 
* along observed Herr von Waldenstein’s interest in you, 
and more than suspected it was returned, so I proposed 
your immediate removal. Now comes my greatest fault, 
Ella. Your treatment of me had been such that, hence- 
forth, I did not trouble myself about your happiness or 
unhappiness. I became the submissive slave of Edith’s 
caprices, and carried out her plans so well, that she 
promised to double the amount I was receiving if I 
would continue her faithful coadjutor. The sum was 
large enough to relieve Edgar from his copying, and 
furnish us a comfortable maintenance in the future. I 
embarked in her new scheme with much less reluctance 
than the first, although that might be called virtuous in 
comparison with it. It depends altogether upon the 
standpoint from which one views a wrong, how it looks, 
and the mischief is, that this standpoint changes with 
each false step. I obeyed her Excellency implicitly, and, 
with her, everything is right that accords with her 
wishes. The present moment rules, and, if she is never 
dismayed by what it brings, neither does she intend any 
evil, — she merely submits to necessity. Was it not 
supremely absurd to suppose that an old man, full of 
business, could fill her young heart entirely ? Did she 
not make him happy, and that, too, at a tremendous 
sacrifice on her part, — a whole hour magnanimously 
bestowed upon him every day? Ought he not to be 


ELEONORE. 


24Y 


thankful for the brilliant ornament to his house, which 
her grace and beauty afforded? Surely this gave her a 
right to think of her own pleasure occasionally. Well, 
she did think of it, and filled the inevitable void in her 
affections by another image. But the world, unfor- 
tunately, looks with disfavor upon the open indulgence 
of such pleasures, and, besides, her husband was foolish 
enough to be jealous ; she must seek some escape from, 
these difficulties. The splendid success of the venture, 
which secured for her handsome admirer an office at the 
capital, pointed out the way. Count Hardeck, the 
mother’s lover, must keep himself at a distance, while the 
same individual, as the acknowledged suitor of her dear 
daughter, might freely spend every evening in her society. 
Was she responsible for this unreasonable prejudice of 
society, this ridiculous selfishness on the part of her hus- 
band ? Was she not rather to be pitied for being com- 
pelled by both to resort to such a subterfuge?” 

“ But Budolph !” I cried, interrupting her wildly. 
“ Count Hardeck ! — he could not consent to this wicked 
lie, — he could not deceive me so grossly?” 

She looked at me with a cold smile. “ That is a 
strange question, Ella. Are you not to-day Count Har- 
deck’s betrothed ?” 

Great God I was everything I touched but the glitter 
of sin ? This man, whom I had so trusted, a false, 
hypocritical villain I Was there nothing upon which I 
could rely ? Dare I believe in God himself, when his 
creatures, the beings formed in his image, were so faith- 
less and vile ? 

Carola saw how crushed I was by the blow she had 
inflicted, and said, kindly, — 

“ 1 thought you did not love the Count, Ella, and 
would be glad to shake off the fetters fastened upon you.” 

I lifted my head, and looking up to the sky that 
beamed so brightly above us, exclaimed, passionately, 
“ I loved goodness, honor, purity I I could have borne 
life without happiness, but stripped of my faith in 
humanity, I shrink from the thought of living.” 

“ You talk foolishly,” rejoined Carola. “ Why make 
all mankind responsible for the sins of one person? 
Shall 1 go on, or are you too much excited ?” 


248 


ELEONORE. 


“ Say what you have to,” I replied, bitterly, — “ nothing 
can disturb me now.” 

‘‘ The necessary result of Edith’s plans was your mar- 
riage with the Count, for the world would not accept 
an eternal courtship, and the truth must in time come 
to light. With her talent for intrigue you would have 
been the Countess Hardeck long ago, if that gentleman 
himself had not objected. Her Excellency fears and 
loves him more than everybody else, and to oppose him 
openly she would never dare, — nor was it easy to get 
around him in any way, for he is sharp-sighted, and 
knows her ground thoroughly. He proved a stubborn 
subject, and you were protected in your freedom by the 
very one who was to rob you of it. When Waldenstein 
appeared, I thought Edith’s game was lost. What she did 
to make him leave you I do not know. Of this offense 
against you I am innocent, and when I saw how completely 
broken-hearted you were, I felt the keenest sympathy for 
your sufferings. It cost me some effort to accede to her 
next proposition and recall Kö'llner. I presume you 
know why he was sent for, — fear of him, she expected, 
would drive you to seek refuge with his cousin. But the 
way in which you did this defeated us, and, at the same 
time, aroused Edith’s jealousy. This showed itself so 
unmistakably, that I wondered you did not comprehend 
how matters stood. She had bound a whip to scourge 
herself, and now writhed under its stings. The Count, at 
last, tormented beyond endurance by her upbraidings, 
threatened to leave her forever, and then she turned all 
her fury against you, the harmless victim. But she was 
not to blame, — on the contrary, you had sinned against 
her, enticed away the heart of her lover; and ^what 
punishment was too great for such a crime ? She had 
made you the rich, envied Countess, and was it not the 
vilest ingratitude to your benefactress to claim anything 
beyond ? Lately I have frequently been tempted to tell 
you the truth, but the thought of Edgar has restrained 
me. As to the Count, I feel that he despises the hand 
which serves him, and I should not hesitate to do him 
any injury in my power.” 


ELEONORE. 


249 


“Then it is ill feelin^ against him which leads yon 
to make this disclosure?” I asked, feebly. 

“ No, Ella; although he has often compelled me, in your 
interest, to act contrary to Edith’s will, and consequently 
my own advantage.” 

She paused, and looked at me with 4ier catlike teeth 
all visible. “ Did you ever hear of the practice in vogue 
among Greek and Italian robbers when a ransom has 
been delayed ? They cut off tlie ears of the prisoner and 
send them to his friends, to show what serious danger 
threatened his life while the payment was withheld. Well, 
do you see, — I adopt their method. You may turn from 
me in horror if you will, but I am made of different stuff 
from you, and tliough it be the wages of sin, I have richly 
deserved my hire, and will not give it up. You know 
yourself her Excellency’s continual embarrassment in 
money matters, and can readily conceive that I have been 
somewhat anxious about the promised reward. I insisted 
upon security for the capital, and she gave it, knowing 
that otherwise I would not remain; but now, when the 
goal is reached, and I want this money, want it the more 
because Edgar is sick and longs for me to be with him, 
it is not forüicomiug. Edith first evaded my request, then 
flew into a passion, and now confesses that the capital 
secured to me has been spent, gone for laces, jewelry, 
and such trifles. Her selfishness makes her blind. She 
thinks she can treat me as she does you, but I will soon 
show her the contrary. If this exposure does not effect 
anything, I have another threat in reserve. Your father 
shall share the interesting secret, and all her arts will be 
powerless in the face of the proof I can bring.” 

The thought of my father, of the unspeakable affliction 
this dishonor would be to him, caused me for a moment 
to forget myself. 

“ Spare liim !” I cried. “ Spare my father, Carola! Do 
not poison his declining years by revealing to him his 
wife’s infamy.” 

She laughed harshly. “ Never fear,— only the threat 

is necessary. Edith will pay me.” 

“ But where can she get the money?” 

“ Be at rest about that, too. If her husband’s credit 

L* 


250 


ELEONORE. 


fails, she will not hesitate to apply to Hardeck. I might 
have resorted to this expedient myself, for the Count is 
exceedingly generous, but delicacy forbade partly, and 
partly I wanted to save you.” 

These last words excited my distrust. How could I 
place any confidence in this pretended sympathy? It 
might only be a cloak for some further scheme of wicked- 
ness. A ray of hope shot through the darkness. 

“I do not believe you, Carola,” I exclaimed. “You 
have not been telling me the truth ; it cannot be Har- 
deck is such a traitor I” 

“ I can prove what I say,” she replied, with some as- 
tonishment. “ Come with me and you can convince 
yourself. Are you strong enough to do this ?” 

I hesitated a moment, and then signified my assent. 
She led the way to Edith’s apartments, opened the door 
noiselessly, and, pointing to a curtain which separated the 
two parlors, disappeared. A murmur of voices reached 
my ear, but I could not distinguish a word. The blood 
bounded in my veins like liquid fire, and whirled and 
danced through my brain so that I could not think. I 
crossed the room, and pushed the drapery cautiously 
aside. There sat Rudolph Hardeck, gracefully reclining 
in an easy-chair, while before him stood Edith in a state 
of furious excitement. 

“ Is this interesting scene ended, Edith ?” was the first 
thing I heard, spoken in those calm, steady tones, with 
which I was so familiar. 

“ You are false to me, Rudolph ; systematically so,” 
she replied. “ I must be blind not to see your increasing 
affection for this girl, — this little, insignificant baby.” 

“ If she is so insignificant, why do you fear her ?” he 
asked, elevating his eyebrows. 

“ Swear to me that you do not love her, Rudolph ; 
give me your word of honor that you do not clire for her, 
and I will believe you, — trust you with the unquestion- 
ing faith of a child.” 

“ This childish faith is something quite remarkably in 
you, Edith,” he retorted, ironically; and then, after a 
pause, added, in a sterner tone, “ Let us end this. Excel- 
lency ; it is intensely tiresome to me. Your jealousy is 


ELEONORE. 


251 


perfectly nnreasonaJ)le, since I have but gone the way 
you yourself marked out. If you force upon me the part 
of an affianced, you have no right to complain because I 
play it well.” 

The walls and furniture began to reel. I reached out 
for something to lay hold of, and, with a cry of pain, fell 
senseless to the floor. When I awoke to consciousness, 
I found myself in my own room. Hardeck was leaning 
over me, tenderly bathing my temples, while Nannie 
stood by, looking the very picture of despair. As I 
opened my eyes a gleam of joy overspread his features, 
and he murmured something like a thanksgiving. 

“ You see, Ella, what mischief your tears have 
wrought,” said he, after awhile. “ I knew that the Min- 
ister alone stood between me and the scene you have 
just witnessed, — between this pretense of love for a 
married woman,— but it was to win you ; more than that, 
it was to snatch you from a danger that hung, like the 
sword of Damocles, over your head.” 

I looked at him imploringly, but he shook his head 
mournfully, and continued : 

“ I cannot yield to those pleading eyes. I cannot 
leave you without a word of explanation. Do not turn 
your f^ace away, Ella. Never have I loved you more 
truly than at this hour, when I seem to be untrue. It 
was love for you that drove me to a countenance of this 
infamous plot, and if I have sinned deeply, deeply have 
I atoned for it. Your anger would be changed to pity 
if you could but catch a glimpse of what I now suffer. 
I wanted to lead you blindly, safely over this dark abyss, 
but the burden of the secret has sometimes been intoler- 
able to me, and even now, when its discovery has robbed 
me so cruelly, there is comfort in the thought that you 
know the worst of me. Ah, Ella! why did you not 
love me ? Why did I not, months ago, take you from 
this hateful place ? Then I could have won your heart 
innocently, and, instead of appearing before you like a 
criminal, I might have held you in my arms a loved and 
happy wife.” 

I lifted my hand in entreaty, and gathering up all my 
strength, cried, feebly, “ I pray you spare me, — leave me I 


252 


ELEONORE. 


If you do not wish to make me mad, be merciful, and 
go.” 

Forgive me,” he answered, starting; ‘'my own suf- 
fering has made me regardless of yours. I will go now, 
but you must hear me by-and-by. You must understand, 
Ella, that I alone can save you, and, by Heaven, I will 
save you even against your wishes.” 

He was gone, and I breathed more freely ; still, that 
oath frightened me. I felt, it is true, that Edith was the 
one deceived, but the deception remained all the same, 
and he was guilty of it. The confidence I had reposed 
in him could never be revived ; a deep gulf had opened 
between us, which nothing could fill. 1 was overpowered, 
crushed ; but physical exhaustion proved an angel of 
mercy, and, in spite of it all, I fell asleep. 

The sun had gone down when I awoke, and the 
shadows of evening were gathering over the park. I 
was strengthened and refreshed, — able to look at my 
situation calmly, and consider what I ought to do One 
thing was certain : I must leave Kronenberg immediately. 

“We shall have to go away from here, Nannie!”! 
cried, starting from my couch ; “ help me think how it 
can be done without observation.” 

“Ah, Fräulein Lora! it’s of no use. They’ve locked 
us in.” 

“ Locked us in ! Have they dared to make an absolute 
prisoner of me?” 

“ Yes, my lady ; soon after the Herr Count -left, I 
heard the keys turn, and when I tried to go out, the doors 
were all fastened.” 

Edith had foreseen my intention, and taken effectual 
means to prevent me from informing my father of what 
had occurred. I stepped to the window to see if it were 
possible to reach the ground from that height. 

“ When I was a child I could climb like a squirrel,” 
said Nannie, guessing my thoughts. “ If my lady will 
help me, I can get dowui the balcony into the garden, — 
the Prince doesn’t live far from here. I could go to him ; 
maybe he would help us.” 

The old Prince ! I thanked her for the suggestion, and 
proceeded at once to act upon it. I wrote a few hurried 


ELEONORE. 


253 


lines without explanation, merely stating that I wished 
to return to the city, and requesting him to furnish me 
with an escort. This note I charged Nannie repeatedly 
to give into no hands but his own, and bade her use all 
possible speed in her errand. She was ready in a trice, 
scrambled over the railing like a kitten, and disappeared 
among the trees. I closed the door behind her, and, 
extinguishing my light, lay down upon the sofa, — if 
possible, to shorten the hours of waiting by sleep. 

The moon rose slowly over the horizon, and its silver 
horn dipped tremblingly into the clear, blue ether. The 
sickly light gradually filled my room, and painted weird, 
fantastic shapes upon the wall, but neither enchanted 
landscape nor ghostly shadow moved me to-night. The 
world of imagination had lost all its power over me. I 
was drunk with the terrors of reality. How ignorantly I 
had walked among them ! Then I fell to reflecting upon 
Edith’s life, — her former poverty and hardships, and the 
luxurious ease and prosperity of her present condition. 
What poor, short-sighted mortals we are to groan over 
want and misfortune, when in them lies the root of the 
truest happiness ! — they become such in reality only to 
him who gathers from them no spiritual fruit. Here was 
something for me to do. There were no earthly attrac- 
tions to brighten my pathway, but it might be adorned 
with inward joys, — the consciousness of progress in 
goodness, truth, and purity, — that sweet peace of the 
soul which, like a stray beam of Paradise, lifts our eyes 
from earth to heaven. I had seen the havoc wrought by 
unbridled passion, and learned how, out of weak conces- 
sion to its demands, is forged the chain that drags us 
into crime. To control these powerful but rebellious 
servants, to make them ministers to action, not masters 
of it, is work for any one ; and then, there are others to 
help, weak ones to uphold, and timid ones to guide along 
this road which alone leads to the really high places of 
the earth. There was enough for me to do through the 
long years before me, enough to keep those years alive 
and full till the harvest came. An earthly home was 
denied nie, — me the weak, irresolute girl ; but theu God 
was a shelter and defense, and in his love is rest for 

22 


254 


ELEONORE. 


r 

i 


evermore. To leave my father’s house, to break myself 
the tie that bound me to this precious friend, to draw upon 
me his displeasure, — it was terrible, it seemed the curse 
of Cain upon my soul, and yet I must flee the moral 
miasma of this place. I thought of Rutwitz, the solitary 
house, the quiet park, those faithful old people there, and 
it seemed an asylum of happy innocence, in which I 
might find peace. But a shadow rested there, too. 
Could I bear to see him again, unless that seeing again 
were also a finding again ? — could I look tamely on, while 
another occupied that place which was to me the summit 
of earthly bliss ? 

Nannie’s return put an end to this rambling. I was 
astonished to see her back so soon, and could hardly 
believe she had been to the Prince. 

“ But I did not walk,” said she, in reply to my question, 
— “I went like a princess, in a coach all lined with silk, 
and lanterns outside. When I was about half-way 
through the park, the Herr Count met me, and asked me 
where I was going. I didn’t tell him at first, and he 
looked provoked, but said it didn’t matter, he knew with- 
out my telling him, and ordered me to give him the letter, — 
he would send it, he said. That I did not do, Fräulein 
Lora. I told him my mistress bade me give it into 
nobody’s hand but the Prince’s, and that I should obey 
her. I expected he would be awfully angry, but he 
wasn’t. Instead of that he called me a good girl, said I 
was right to do as my young lady ordered me ; but that 
it was too far for me to walk, — I should wait a few 
minutes, and he would send me over. He came back 
himself, after seeing about the carriage, helped me into it 
just like a lady, and sent his servant along to take care 
of me. Who would have thought this distinguished 
Count could be so polite to a poor girl like me ? Of course, 
I knew it was all on account of my lady, but I’m very 
much obliged to him nevertheless.” 

The reply of the Prince was very brief. He expressed 
his readiness to serve me, and said he would call for me 
himself at ten the next morning. How I was to obtain 
release from my room did not then appear, but at the 
appointed hour a servant announced his Excellency, 


ELEONORE. 


255 


Prince Durchlaucht, and left me at liberty to go where I 
pleased. It was easy to guess who had spoken the magic 
words. Hardeck’s meeting with Nannie did more than 
merely save her a long walk. He was with the Prince 
when I entered, and, save an ashy pallor about the lips, 
his features bore not the slightest trace of emotion. Both 
gentlemen met me with the same cordial, unconstrained 
courtesy that they would have done three days before, 
and, while I could not help thinking what hypocrites 
they were, their composure helped me greatly through 
the embarrassment of the meeting. The Prince, evidently, 
neither knew nor wished to know anything of the cir- 
cumstances which summoned him to my assistance. He 
apologized for hurrying me, but a business engagement 
in the city compelled him to leave at once. Hardeck 
accompanied us to the carriage, and taking advantage of 
the moment, as he handed me in, said, in low, pleading 
tones, — 

“ Not one friendly word, Ella, — one single word at 
parting 

I shook my head sadly and turned away. 

Our ride was not a very social one. My companion 
made some remarks upon the weather, and the country 
through which we were passing, but I did not second his 
efforts at conversation, and he soon relapsed into silence. 
At the palace gate he left rhe, with the assurance that I 
might depend upon his friendship at all times, and call 
upon him in case of any emergency with entire freedom. 
I thanked him heartily for all his kindness, but felt that 
hereafter I must look for help to God alone. 

Upon inquiry, I found my father was at the chateau of 
the King, and would not return until late in the evening, 
so a little time was given me to collect my scattered 
powers. Towards evening, as I sat pondering the im- 
pending interview, trying to devise some means by which 
I might escape his anger without casting suspicion upon 
Edith, the door opened, and Rudolph Hardeck stood be- 
fore me. With instinctive aversion I turned away to 
avoid the sight of him, but I could not close my ears. 

“Be calm, Ella,” said he. “I am not come to annoy 
you with entreaties, — your whole bearing towards me has 


256 


ELEONORE. 


shown that these would be in vain. I have come to talk 
with you seriously of yourself.” ^ 

I raised my eyes involuntarily to convince myself that 
this voice belonged to him, it sounded so strangely. His 
face was perfectly bloodless, and he looked more like a 
statue than a thing human. 

‘‘1 know what you are going to do,” he continued, — 
“you intend to expose yourself to your father’s anger for 
the sake of sparing his peace ; but you forget that this is 
no mercy, — the blow must come sooner or later, and you 
are only helping to place him in a false position. Besides, 
this forbearance, instead of exciting gratitude in the one 
towards whom it is exercised, will merely furnish her 
with a convenient lever to raise herself. She will ply 
your father’s heart with subtle insinuations until it is set 
fixedly against you, and you will be thrust out of his home 
forever.” 

“ I know this,” said I, when he paused. “ I have 
thought of it all, but there is no other way.” 

“And do you think I will suffer it, Ella, — suffer you to 
sacrifice yourself to one so unworthy? No! I swear by 
heaven and earth, I will tell the Minister myself the 
whole story before it shall be done. Listen to me a few 
moments, Ella,” he continued, more quietly: “there is a 
way which will spare your feelings as a daughter, and at 
the same time enable you to set Edith’s malice at de- 
fiance, — but first let me tell you of the past. When I 
met this woman in Florence, a little over a year ago, it 
must be confessed I was intoxicated by her beauty; 
and, drawn on by those arts of which she is so perfect a 
mistress, soon became madly in love with her. The feel- 
ing had no deep hold upon my nature, however, and 
would have died away after we separated but for her 
letters. In one of these she proposed ray removal to the 
capital, and offered to use her influence to bring it about. 
The position was more desirable than the one 1 then oc- 
cupied, and I allowed her efforts in my behalf. In what 
way they were exerted I learned afterwards. I was in- 
dignant that she should use me in any such game, while 
pity mingled with the warmest esteem arose in me for 
you, the helpless, injured victim of her designs. As the 


ELEONORE. 


257 


veil was lifted from the hateful soul of this beautiful 
woman, a complete revulsion of feeling took place on my 
part. I despised, abhorred her very presence, and all the 
deepest emotions of my heart set towards you. I wore 
the mask she put upon me for the sake of winning you ; 
saving you, poor child I from her base machinations. But 
the longer this double game lasted, the more difficult I 
found it to manage ; and I sometimes felt like cursing the 
chains that bound me to you, bound me so closely that I 
knew I could never again be free. I have nothing more to 
add, Ella, except that along with remorse for my falsehood 
and duplicity, will always come bitter regret that I had 
not sought your love in a straightforward manner. Hap- 
piness for me is dead ; but there is something almost like 
it in the thought of removing you from danger. My 
transfer, which was to have taken effect on our wedding 
day, I shall use at once in your behalf.” 

“ Your transfer I what has that to do with me?” I asked, 
in astonishment. 

He hesitated before replying^ “ The first thing, Ella, 
is to get you away from this house. Your life even is 
not safe under the same roof with this woman.” 

“ Give yourself no anxiety. Count Hardeck; I shall go 
of my own free will, and ” 

“ No, you shall not, Ella !” he interrupted, passionately. 
“ I have told you already that I will not suffer such folly. 
Reflect calmly upon what I have to propose. You were 
until yesterday my promised wife ; fulfill that engagement, 
and let my name protect you. I am sent to London, but 
a change can be effected if you prefer another place. 
Your father will not think it strange that I am unwilling 
to leave the country alone, and all that Edith can say or 
do will have no weight. I have written to Francisca, — she 
will be here at the latest to-morrow, and ready to accom- 
pany us. You shall live with her, Ella, and be troubled 
with my presence only when regard for appearances 
demands it.” He paused, and then with difficulty con- 
trolling his emotion, continued, ‘‘ Hope is tenacious and 
rarely extinguished in the human breast. I will not deny 
that the fond dream still lingers of calling you some time 
truly mine, but I give you my sacred promise that your 

22 * 


258 


ELEONORE. 


relation to me shall never be abused to push this hope. 
Yes, Ella, and if by-and-by you see that — if you continue 
to think my offense inexpiable, you shall be free again. I 
pledge my word to place no obstacle in the way of a di- 
vorce, and to take all the blame upon myself, so that no 
shadow of a reproach may rest upon you. In that case, 
even your situation would be far preferable to what it is 
now. As the Countess Hardeck, you could live and act 
as you please, — you would he entirely beyond Edith’s 
reach, and independent in every respect, for in the mar- 
riage contract I will insist upon your entire inheritance. 
I implore you, Ella, to consent to this plan, use my name 
to secure your safety, and discard it when it becomes a 
restraint.” 

He ceased speaking, and looked into my face eagerly, 
as if he would read there the impression his words had 
made upon me. It was true, this course steered clear of 
all breakers, and was safe and sure, — its unselfishness, 
too, moved me greatly ; but the impossibility of adopting 
it was very clear. The moral antipathy which his con- 
duct had excited in me extended to his person, and the 
mere sight of the man was unendurable. I was sorry 
for this feeling, and regretted the necessity of inflicting 
upon him fresh pain, but there was no evading it. 

“ I cannot listen to your generous offer, Rudolph,” 
said I, in steady tones. “ It is impossible, for I — since 
yesterday — I cannot help it, but your presence even has 
become intolerable.” 

He started to his feet, staggered, as if under a heavy 
blow, then dropped back upon the sofa, and his head 
fell almost lifeless upon his chest. The sight of this 
strong man, crushed with grief, was terrible. My eyes, 
filled with tears, — I wanted so to comfort him ; and yet 
what could I say ? I do not know how long this dreary 
silence had rested between us, when the door suddenly 
swung open, and Edith appeared upon the threshold, her 
dress and hair in wild disorder, and her whole appear- 
ance bearing the impress of great excitement. 

“At last I have an opportunity of witnessing this 
maidenly reserve, this graceful shyness, so irresistible to 
gentlemen,” she screamed, staring at me fiercely. “ I 


ELEONORE. 


259 


knew I should find Rudolph in this room, you miserable 
hypocrite !” 

She stood there like a beautiful fiend, hate and revenge 
sparkling from her eyes, and stamped upon every 
feature. As I gazed at her, Hardeck’s fears took a 
frightful significauce, and I felt that a strong temptation 
only was needed to stain her hands with the blackest of 
crimes. The Count seemed for an instant, like myself, 
petrified by the sight, but he soon found voice. 

“ I think, madame, you had better seek your maid,” 
said he, in a sneering tone. “ Your costume reminds one 
strikingly of a mad-house.” 

She quailed a little before this speech, and brushed the 
hair hastily from her forehead, but, the next moment, 
turned upon me again, savagely : 

“ You shall account for this, you good-for-nothing jade I 
How dare you bring him here, make secret appointments 
with him, when you know that he belongs to me, 
that ” 

“ Stop, madame !” shouted Hardeck, in tones that 
made me tremble and Edith turn pale. “ We have had 
enough of this, 1 tell you, and, I believe, you understand 
that I generally mean what I say. You see me in this 
room, it is true, but Fräulein Ella, so far^ from being 
responsible for my coming, would have locked and bolted 
me out had she suspected such a thing. A certain key, 
which you may remember, enabled me to enter without 
her permission.” 

An expression of despair settled upon Edith’s counte- 
nance. “ Rudolph, it cannot be you have ceased to love 
me ?” she cried, bitterly. “ It is only the -arts of this 
cunning flirt that have enticed you from me ; but I will 
punish her,” she added, wildly. “I will cripple her 
arms, will ” 

Again the Count silenced her. “Where can I find the 
bell, Ella ?” he asked. “ The lady of the house is evi- 
dently delirious, — her room is the fittest place for her, 
and a physician the best company.” 

He laid his hand upon the bell-rope. 

“ Rudolph !” cried she, in a tone of heart-rending en- 
treaty, — “Rudolph! kill me, — strike me dead at once, 


260 


ELEONORE. 


but do not treat me with this indifference I” And throwing 
herself at his feet, she poured forth a torrent of passionate 
complaint and supplication. 

“What is this, madame?”said he, releasing himself 
from her grasp. “ Do you expect to move me by such 
acting? Have you lost all your self-respect ? Get up, I 
command you.” 

She shuddered at his cold, hard words, but had, ap- 
parently, neither strength nor will to lift herself from the 
floor. 

“Go, Ella,” he continued, tome, — “this, is no scene 
for your eyes.” 

I arose obediently, and retired to my sleeping-room. 
For a few moments I heard his voice, then the door 
closed heavily, and a piercing cry of agony echoed 
through the house. I tried to shut out the pitiful sobs 
and moans that followed, but it was of no use, — again 
# and again the sound penetrated to my ears, until it 
seemed to me I should go mad. At length it ceased, 
— there was a rustling, a gliding footfall, and all was 
still. 

I sat down to think of what lay before me. The past 
hour had revealed to me heights and depths in Hardeck’s 
character before unknown. I foresaw, plainly, that not 
even my declared aversion would free me from him. He 
would conquer this ere I was aware, would bind my will 
to his, and lead me whither he thought best. I must act 
quickly, instantly. To-morrow morning I would leave 
for Rutwitz, in spite of what awaited me there, — with 
my aunt, at least, I should find safe counsel. When 
Nannie came in to make preparations for the night, I told 
her of my decision. 

“ I expected this, my lady,” she replied, “ and all is 
ready. The Minister has returned, too, but her Excel- 
lency is with him, and has given orders that no one 
should disturb them.” 

Edith’s grief, then, had subsided sufficiently to .make 
her careful for her safety and my destruction. My task 
had doubtless grown a little heavier, but it was none the 
less to be lifted. 


ELEONORE. 


261 


xxri. 

The next morning I was up and dressed at an early 
hour, determined to obtain access to my father at all 
hazards. But I met with no difficulty. Cerberus him- 
self obsequiously ushered me into the dressing-room, and 
I knew in a moment that Edith felt secure. A dark 
cloud settled upon my father’s face as he saw me. 

“ What do you want here, Lora?” he asked, harshly. 

“ To speak to you, dear father : to ask your permission 
for the future-:^ ” 

“The future! Are you not satisfied yet? What 
brilliant prospect have you in view now ? Has the 
Prince made you an offer of marriage ? I do not know 
whether his fortune is greater than Count Hardeck’s-or 
not. You are doubtless informed upon that point. But 
.then you would be a Durchlaucht, and that is certainly 
a worthy object of ambition.” 

I was dumb with astonishment. W’'as there no limit 
to Edith’s wicked imaginings? “Ido not understand 
you, papa,” I replied, trying to speak calmly. “ The 
Prince is old enough to be my grandfather, and, besides, 
he knew of my engagement to Hardeck.” 

“ Well, what did that matter ? You could find ways 
to let him know that you did not love your betrothed, 
and that your cruel parents forced you into this^marriage. 
If it is not some such thing as that, why, in the name 
of all propriety, did you let him bring you here, instead 
of returning with Edith, a few hours later ?” 

“ I did not know Edith was coming, father. To re- 
main in the same house with Count Hardeck was im- 
possible, and so I asked the Prince, as your friend, to 
accompany me. His name, I should think, was sufficient 
to insure the propriety of the ride.” 

“ Of course, of course,” he replied, somewhat mollified. 
“ Our dear Edith is a little oversensitive with regard to 
such matters. I did not myself believe he could be so 
duped by you, although, when love takes the reins, the 
wisest are sometimes very foolish ; but what has hap- 


262 


ELEONORE. 


pened with Hardeek? what possible reason can you give 
ibr treating him in this way ?” 

It took all the force of will at my command to utter 
the lie I had framed, and I dare not meet his eye, as 1 
stammered, “A closer acquaintance has made me feel 
that we have too little sympathy with each other to in- 
sure a happy union.” 

“ Indeed I” was the sarcastic rejoinder. “ I believe you 
saw the Count every day for six months. How long would 
you require to satisfy yourself on that point? No; the 
truth is, you have discovered that he is not to be made the 
football of your caprices, and unless you can show me 
just cause of complaint against him", or he himself desires 
a release, your promise remains good.” 

“ You will not compel me to marry him?” I cried. 

“ I shall, most decidedly. Hardeck is just the man to 
keep a frivolous woman within bounds, and, together, 
we may cure you of your folly. Not even Edith’s inter- 
cession can change this resolution, — it is unalterable. 
As for the rest, I will try to be less stern, though my 
heart is severely w^ounded by your conduct. Edith wept 
like a child when she told me of it. Anxiety and care 
for you have completely unnerved her.” 

“ What was it Edith told you, father?” I inquired. 

“ Do you ask ? Is it so trifling a matter to hand your 
mother’s jewels over to a pawn-broker ? You expected 
me to redeem them, I suppose, and so I shall, but they 
will not be placed again in your keeping. I shall give 
them to my wife, for her individual property.” 

“ As you please, papa,” I answered, without a thought 
of disclosing the horrible perfidy enveloped in this trans- 
action. The jewels, doubtless, had been Carola’s security, 
and would serve that purpose a second time, when they 
fell into the hands of this faithful spouse. “ But with 
reference to Count Hardeck, I cannot yield to your will. 
I shall never marry him.” 

“Lora!” he exclaimed, more in astonishment than 
anger. 

“Yes, father; forgive those undutiful words, but they 
may prove to you how firmly I am convinced of my right 
to act as I have done.” 


ELEONORE. 


263 


To act as the whim seizes you,” he cried, bitterly. 

Never mind, there is a way to bring refractory daugh- 
ters to reason.” 

“A way you will have no occasion to use, my father, 
since I am ready, of my own accord, to leave your house. 
The world is not the place for me. I feel that painfully, 
and want your permission to go back to Rutwitz.” 

“Are you mad, Lora? Do you think I will have that 
venerable old lady tormented by you again ? Probably 
the chief attraction there is young Waldenstein.” 

“ Waldenstein is betrothed,” I interposed, hastily. 

“ That would make no difference to you. On the con- 
trary, a flirtation wfth him under such circumstances 
would be only the more interesting. No ; you shall re- 
main where you are, with your parents, and we will try 
what love and firmness can do to reclaim you to a 
worthier life. You will still look upon Hardeck as your 
future husband, and if you dare exhibit to him any of 
this remarkable aversion I will ” 

I seized his uplifted hand. I pressed it to my heart, 
and, throwing my arms around his neck, stammered, 
between the sobs, “ Do not speak that word, my father, 
for I cannot do what you command. Blame your un- 
happy child, if you think she deserves it, but do not 
thrust her wholly from your heart. Remember, it is 
your only child, — the child of the woman you once 
loved 1 For her sake, be merciful. I must go — the air 
here is deadly poison to me — at once, this very hour, I 
must go. Give me one kind word to take with me on 
my lonely way, — one loving, tender word, — it will be a 
talisman to shield me, a light to brighten my gloomy 
pathway.” 

This utterance of my overcharged heart seemed first 
to amaze and then soften him. He pressed me tenderly 
in his arms, and, scanning my face closely, said, with 
more gentleness, — 

“ Lora, you have deceived me. It is not this affair 
with Hardeck alone that distresses you. There is some- 
thing besides, which you are keeping from me. Speak 
frankly, — tell me all about it, and I will judge you 
leniently.” 


264 


ELEONORE, 


“ There is nothing to tell, dear father, except that I 
am most unhappy, and that it will kill me if I have to go 
away with the certainty that your love is lost to me 
forever. It juay be a sort of madness which possesses 
me, but it seems as if death and destruction hung over 
me here everywhere. Oh, I pray you be merciful, and 
let me go I” 

The expression of his face changed. I think he had 
serious doubts of my sanity. He stroked my hair in his 
old caressing way, and said, soothingly, “ Perhaps I 
have judged you too harshly, my child, — go to Rutwitz 
for awhile; the quiet life there will do you good, and we 
will talk about the rest when you are stronger. Now go 
and find Edith, and ask her forgiveness for the trouble you 
have given her, — she will arrange about your journey.” 

“ That is all done, papa. My things are packed, and I 
came here for your parting blessing.” 

Again he looked at me, searchingly. “ My darling 
child, you will not trust me, and yet I see you are suffer- 
ing deeply, — I wish I could help you. Let us hope that 
time and absence may heal the wound, and that you 
will return to us and your betrothed with a light heart. 
Good-by, my little Lora ; write to us often, and do not be 
gone long.” 

I clung to him, weeping. “ Give me your blessing, 
father, — I cannot go without that.” 

“ May God be with you, my precious, darling child !” 
said he, laying his hands upon my head, — “ and now go, 
this excitement is not good for you.” 

He led me to the door, kissed me once more, and turned 
away. 

I found the carriage waiting to convey us to the depot, 
and Nannie with her bonnet and cloak all on; but there 
was one thing more to be done. I must let Hardeck 
know that I had parted from my father in peace, and 
that there was no necessity of his revealing the dark 
secret that lay between us. Besides, to tell him frankly 
where I was going secured me, absolutely, against his 
pursuit. A brief note was written and sealed, which 
Nannie undertook to see safely mailed, and then we 
were ready. The heavy gates of the palace closed behind 


ELEONORE. 


265 


us, and my home was left forever. A sweet dream, it 
had been, of the future, a bitter endurance in the present, 
and now, in the past, only sad memories would be 
awakened by its mention. 

It was almost dark when we reached the station at 
Rutwitz, and, without waiting" to send a messenger, we 
set out for the castle. Old John opened the door, and 
actually turned pale with astonishment when he saw who 
was there. I went at once to my aunt’s room. She hardly 
seemed surprised at seeing me, but her silent embrace 
was better than the most enthusiastic welcome. 

“I expected you, Lora, — I knew you would come 
back,” said she, drawing me closer to her. “ There, 
never mind telling me about it, you can do that by-and- 
by. It is enough for the present that you are here.” 

I could not speak. Her tender sympathy completely 
overpowered me. Now that it was all over, and my 
weary feet had found a resting-place, I had no strength 
left to use them. 

“ Poor child !” she continued, lifting my head from her 
shoulders; “you have grown older since we parted.” 

“Age is not reckoned by years, dear aunt. I have 
passed moments that seemed to outweigh all the rest of 
my life.” • 

“ Well, they are gone now, and we need not recall 
them. Your return will bring great joy into our little 
circle, Lora. The general and Alma are very warmly 
attached to you.” 

“ I cannot be a joy to any one at present, aunt, and if 
you please, I would rather my coming should not be 
known for awhile. The most perfect quiet is necessary 
to restore me to myself, and I want to see no one but 
you.” 

“ Very well, no one shall disturb you,” she answered, 
cheerfully, “ and no one shall look at you but your old 
aunt. Now we will have some tea, and then to bed for a 
good -night’s rest in your own little room, — it has not 
been touched since you left it.” 

She went with me to my chamber, and sat by me until 
I fell asleep. The next morning when I opened my eyes 
upon the dear, familiar objects around me, and realized 
M 23 


266 


ELEONORE. 


where I was, my heart swelled with p:ratitiide and 
content. Edith could not harm me here ; here, at least, 
was rest and safety, if not happiness. If I could only 
hide myself in some corner of this solitary castle, loosen 
every tie that bound me to the world, and banish its dis- 
cord forever! The boldest height to which my hopes 
now mounted was this perfect release from the outside 
world, that world for which 1 had once so longed, but 
which had brought me naught saVe tears and suffering. 

It was not aunt’s habit to talk much, and to me 
silence was a blessed boon, so for two days I merely 
existed without thought or volition, idling in the sun- 
shine on the terrace, lounging in my dream-corner, or 
following my aunt in her small round of duties about the 
house. This blissful inertia was interrupted by a letter 
from Francisca, but I knew without breaking the seal, 
that Rudolph Hardeck’s writing, not hers, was inside, and 
I decided to return it unopened. I inclosed a note ex- 
plaining the seeming incivility, and assuring her that it 
was from no lack of affection to her, but that I could not 
yet bear a reference to the painful scenes through which 
I had just passed. 

It might have been a week after this, and my spirits 
were beginning to brighten a little, when I was brought 
suddenly to face that trial which I knew all along awaited 
me at Rutwitz. On my way to my aunt’s room one even- 
ing, after a late walk in the park, I discovered Walden- 
stein’s dog lying in one corner of the hall. My feet were 
rooted to the floor. His master was there of course, — 
only a few steps and I could see him again, could satisfy 
the hungry longing I felt to look once more upon his face. 
But then like an iceberg on my heart fell the thought of 
the barrier between us. To meet a cold glance of indif- 
ference from his eyes was worse than eternal separation. 
Ought I to run the risk of giving myself fresh pain ? On 
the other hand, if I remained here this meeting was 
inevitable. Would it not be better, therefore, to test my 
strength at once, to conquer my feelings instead of yield- 
ing to them? I believe I knew at the time that it was 
my poor, weak heart which {)rompted this argument, but it 
prevailed nevertheless, and without further hesitation I 


ELEONORE. 


26t 


walked into the room. He was talking to my aunt, and 
did not observe my presence until I stood directly before 
him. Then he started to his feet, changed color, and 
grasped the back of the chair as if for support. I ex- 
tended my hand with a few words of greeting, but he 
scarcely touched it, and the icy coldness of his fingers 
made me shiver. Little was said by either of us, and as 
soon as politeness permitted he arose to leave. I detained 
him a moment at the door, it may be because I wanted 
to hear his voice once more, — I do not know. 

“May I ask you, Herr von Waldenstein, not to speak 
of my being here ? I need rest and solitude, and would 
rather see no one.’’ 

His eyes sought my face for the first time. “ I see 
you are not well,” he replied, kindly. “ I must apolo- 
gize for my own visit, but I was ignorant of your arrival.” 

“ The apology is unnecessary, Herr von Waldenstein. I 
saw Pasha in the hall, and could have avoided you had I 
chosen to do so.” 

He looked surprised at this, but made no reply, kissed 
my aunt’s hand respectfully, and departed. 

“I am glad you have seen Waldenstein, Lora,”said the 
latter, when the door closed behind him. “I knew a first 
meeting would be embarrassing to you both, and it is 
well to have it over.” 

I stood gazing vacantly into the fire, trying to recall 
every word he had spoken, and every expression of his 
countenance. Probably the first impression his manner 
made upon me was the correct one. He had been greatly 
surprised and somewhat agitated at seeing me so unex- 
pectedly, but disagreeably so, — that was evident. I ex- 
pected it, — I thought I was prepared for it, and yet I could 
with difficulty keep back the tears. 

“ I fear my presence will deprive you of a pleasant 
visitor, dear aunt,” said I, at length. “ Herr von \¥alden- 
stein will not come here again while 1 am with you.” 

“ I am richly compensated for the deprivation, my 
Lora,” was the warm-hearted reply. “ Hugo is dear to 
me, it is true, but you are a tliousandfold dearer.” 

Aunt understood then that he would avoid mo, and she 
knew his reasons for it, as I did not. 


268 


ELEONORE. 


“ Did he say anything of his betrothed ?” I asked, and 
was sorry the next instant for the question. 

“Oh, he is always talking of her, — little Helen is his 
idol. You cannot help liking her, although I think the 
mother may come nearer to you in sympathy, — she re- 
minds me of you in some things ” 

“ I shall hardly have an opportunity of making Frau 
von Niederstadt’s acquaintance, aunt.” 

“ I hope so, — she will do you good. Of course, it can- 
not be pleasant for you and her brother to meet often, but 
that feeling will wear away by degrees, and when he is 
a happy husband, he will forget that bis heart once be- 
longed to another.” 

“ I think he has shown that this other never possessed 
a very large share of it,” said I, bitterly. 

She opened^ her eyes in astonishment. “ Your de- 
pressed condition makes you see things in a false light, 
Lora. Waldenstein loved you sincerely, but having re- 
fused him a return of that love, you surely would not hinder 
his seeking happiness elsewhere ?” 

“ Certainly not, aunt ; but the ease with which he 
found this happiness seems proof of my words.” 

“You are mistaken, Lora. When fate separated you 
and Hugo, I feared for a time that he would never recover 
from the blow ; but his self-respect had suffered by it as 
well as his affections, and pride, I suppose, came to the 
rescue.” 

“ And what had I done to injure this manly dignity and 
pride ?” ' 

She paused before replying. “I would rather not 
speak to you of this matter, Lora, — it will excite us both 
unnecessarily. I will only say that I never blamed you, 
but I could not make Hugo see it as I did.” 

“ Of what did he accuse me, aunt?” 1 asked, under my 
breath. 

“ Of what would a rejected suitor naturally accuse his 
mistress, but of a frivolous trifling with his feelings, the 
exciting of false hope, — in a word, the heartless coquetry 
that had dragged him into this humiliation. I know,” 
she continued, perceiving my involuntary stai-t of horror, 
“that you did not intend this. You saw in him only a 


ELEONORE. 


269 


pleasant acquaintance, a dear friend ; but he construed your 
attentions differently, and this was the ground of the mis- 
understanding. It troubled me greatly, for I was instru- 
mental in bringing you together again in the city, and I 
am doubly glad he has found such speedy consolation.” 

“In how far were you instrumental in this, aunt?” I 
asked again, determined to know the whole. 

“ You press this explanation upon me, Lora, and you 
sliall have it. A short time before you left Rutwitz, I 
began to suspect that Waldenstein regarded my little 
Lora with more than friendly interest, and after your 
departure, he told me frankly of his attachment to you, 
but spoke of it as another of the unhappy turns of for- 
tune, which could bring to him only disappointment and 
pain. Although it was the dearest wish of my heart 
to see you his wife, I did not encourage him, for I felt 
your father would not look upon his suit with favor. 
In the course of the winter, a letter came from Francisca 
Landau, entreating me to devise some means for separating 
you from Count Hardeck, whose attentions she considered, 
in many respects, most unfortunate. She suggested that 
General Wording, who knew Hardeck when a boy, might 
possibly dissuade him from his intentions. The general, 
alas I was confined to his bed by an attack of gout, and, 
of course, could do nothing. I was in great distress, and 
in my extremity turned to Waldenstein. I read him the 
letter, and intimated that a good way to accomplish its 
purpose was for him to secure you himself. He seemed 
little hopeful of such a result, but the prospect of seeing 
you again was too strong a temptation, and he started 
the next morning for the capital. That he should not 
find his way to your heart never once entered my mind. 
He wrote to me, shortly after his arrival, saying that he 
had had a plain talk with Count Hardeck, and that the 
latter, although not willing to yield his pretensions, was 
showing himself in every way a generous rival and true 
friend. Then came two or three hasty lines, containing 
nothing definite, but so radiant with happiness that I easily 
guessed the unwritten. My next intelligence came from 
you, and it was the first I knew of Waldenstein’s return. 
Several weeks passed before I saw him (he was in very 

23 * 


2t0 


ELEONORE. 


low spirits, Frau von Niederstadt said in answer to my in- 
quiries, and visited no one), and then he would have left 
the house without mentioning- your name, if I had not 
questioned him directly as to what passed between you. 
‘ Do you require any information there, my lady V he re- 
plied, reproachfully, ‘ j\Iy flight was like that of Icarus, 
but, unlike him, my wings were cut by the hand that fasli- 
ioned them.’ ‘ Do you mean to say Lora did this V I asked, 
lie tried to waive the subject, but bis insinuations against 
you had aroused me, and I demanded the truth. ‘I have 
not deserved your auger, my lady,’ said he. ‘I am 
willing to believe that Fräulein Eleonore acted only like 
other ladies of society, but the Eleonore whom I loved 
would never have been capable of such art, and so I am 
forced to conclude the latter was a myth. I rarely 
had an opportunity of speaking with her alone, but she 
gave me to understand as clearly as was possible, without 
words, that my love was returned. Frau von Soltendorf 
must have inferred as much, too, for the coolness with 
which she at first received me soon changed to the greatest 
cordiality. I think, by the way, we have misjudged 
her, — she appears to love her daughter sincerely, and to 
be anxious for her happiness. She used to make Ella, 
as she called her, the frequent topic of conversation with 
me, and one evening hinted at her daughter’s tendency 
to coquetry, as I afterwards saw, with the kind intention 
of putting me on my guard ; but it was too late. To 
live in uncertainty was torture, and I resolved to make 
your birthday the occasion for ascertaining my fate. I 
sent Fräulein Eleonore a bouquet in your honor, and 
along with it a note, in which 1 told her all. No answer 
was requested. I knew I could find that easily enough 
in her face, and you can imagine with what impatience I 
awaited our next meeting. This took place in the theatre. 
She held my gift in her hand, and, fool that I was, my 
heart took this as a favorable omen. I hastened to her, 
but never in our acquaintance had she met me so formally, 
so coldly. Her Excellency seemed to pity me, and tried 
to soften the disappointment. She said her daughter had 
been rendered quite unhappy by my letter, that she 
esteemed me very highly, and would be very sorry to 


ELEONORE. 


2T1 


lose my friendship, but that her affections were already 
engaged. Fearing lest she might meet me at the theatre, 
she had been very reluctant to come, but her mother 
advised her to do so, and, as the readiest escape from the 
embarrassment, to take the flowers with her and throw 
them to some of the actors. I needed nothing more 
after this; still, there crept over me a little distrust 
of Edith’s motive in this confidence, and I could not 
leave without proof of her words. It came, and I knew 
that the holiest, truest feelings of my nature had been 
the plaything of a heartless coquette. My faith in 
womanhood was shattered, and for that I could not easily 
forgive her.’ 

“ Waldenstein rose to go, but remembering your com- 
mission, I detained him. 

“ ‘ That bouquet vv^as thrown at the imperative command 
of Edith,’ said I. ‘ Lora wrote to me of it some time ago, 
and requested me to tell you, but I have not had an op- 
portunity untill now.’ He turned pale, threw himself 
back into a chair, and stared at me speechless. ‘You 
have heard not a word from Lora herself,’ I continued, 
‘ and as to Edith, we have not judged her fhlsely. My 
letters have been intercepted, — may not yours have 
suffered the same fate?’ Of its safe delivery, however, 
he was perfectly sure, as his messenger had given it to 
your maid. Then he asked to see your letter to me. I 
hesitated about giving it to him, for it struck me as totally 
unlike you, and I feared its impression upon him, — and 
with reason. As he laid it down, he remarked that if a 
doubt had ever been in his mind as to the truth of Edith’s 
statement, that letter would banish it. Its whole tenor, 
he said, showed that you regarded the matter as a trifling 
episode, of about equal importance with the blue dress 
you wore at the ball, and the destruction of your palm- 
tree by the chambermaid.” 

. Aunt leaned back in her chair quite exhausted by this 
long recital, while I sat staring into the coals, scarcely 
conscious that she had finished speaking. The explana- 
tion, so long desired, had come, but come bringing an 
added tinge of despair, another regret to harass my soul. 
It was hard to lose Waldenstein’s love, but harder still 


272 


ELEONORE. 


to feel I had become to him an object of contempt and 
abhorrence. 

“I told you this story would do you no good, Lora,’^ 
resumed my aunt, after a few moments ; “ but 1 told you, 
likewise, that I attached no blame to you.^’ 

“ I thank you for it, dear aunt,” I replied, quietly. 
“ It is strange that Herr von Waldenstein ’s distrust 
should have been turned solely against me. A single 
question would have set all right. Blanche gave I^an- 
nie that bouquet, and Edith alone read the letter.” 

“ You never received it then, Lora ?” asked my aunt, 
eagerly. 

“ That has lost all significance now, dear aunt. Cir- 
cumstances have so changed that it is better to say no 
more about it.” 

“ You are right, my child. I should hardly dare tell 
Waldenstein this now, when his heart and hand are 
pledged to another ; and yet I am sorry not to set you 
right in his eyes.” 

“ It does not matter, aunt ; I am accustomed to see 
myself misrepresented.” 

“ Poor Lora ! your life is early clouded ; but you are 
not twenty yet, and the future may have many bright 
days in store.” 

“ I hardly think it probable, dear aunt, but I will try 
to believe it.” 


XXIII. 

After this, Waldenstein’s name was never mentioned 
between us, and I strove hard to banish him from my 
thoughts. It had never been my intention to make Rut- 
witz a permanent home, and now that I was stronger, 
the question of the future began to press heavily upon 
me. The only thing that appeared at all feasible, was to 
fit myself for a teacher, and, if possible, obtain a situa- 
tion in some school or family, where I should find plenty 
to do, and could remain as long as I saw fit. My aunt 
gave this project no encouragement, but, nevertheless, I 


ELEONORE. 


273 


kept it steadily in view, and set vigorously to work try- 
ing to repair the deficiencies in my education. In our 
old pastor, I was so fortunate as to secure a kind and 
competent instructor, and the parsonage became my 
favorite place of resort. Gradually I became acquainted 
with his little flock, too, and, after some experience, w^is 
able to adapt myself to their ideas and feelings, and, I 
trust, occasionally to be of use to them. It did me good 
to come in contact with their sound, healthful lives, and 
after they came to know me well, I was always a welcome 
guest in their humble abodes. Sometimes I used to 
wonder why it was that I must be so strangely misunder- 
stood by those very persons whose regard I most prized. 
It needed but a few words to open my father’s eyes and 
restore me to his affection, and yet my silence was the 
guardian of his whole life’s happiness. So, too, with Wald- 
enstein, — I might easily be reinstated in his esteem, but it 
would be at the cost of his peace, and, perhaps, that of 
another. The selfishness of my character must have been 
profound to demand such harsh measures for its cure. 

General Werding was the only one of my old friends 
at Rutwitz who refused to heed my wishes, and leave 
me to myself.' 

“What does this mean, Fräulein Lora?” he cried, 
blustering into my room one morning, soon after he heard 
of my arrival. “Not see your friends, because you 
are low-spirited and in trouble ? That’s exactly the 
reason why you should gather them around you. What’s 
the use of having friends if they can’t help us at such 
times ? besides, we prove the real article then. There 
are always people enough to sun themselves with you in 
prosperity, but when the shadows fall, these summer- 
birds fly away. I shall come and see you whenever I 
please, and I know you haven’t the heart to turn me 
out-of-doors.” 

The old man had been sick a great deal during the 
year of my absence, and had grown visibly older, but 
his cheerfulness and good humor were as abundant as 
ever. He always had some pleasant thing to tell me, 
and it was not long before I began to look forward to his 
coming with genuine delight. But, as the season ad- 
M* 


274 


ELEONORE. 


vancecl, bis annual skirmishes with the gout began, and, 
for weeks at a time, he was confined to the house, the 
wretched victim of pain and ennui, with no company 
but old Barbara, and no amusement but her monotonous 
reading of the daily paper. During one of these attacks, 
he wrote to my aunt, imploring us so earnestly to come 
to him, that it was not in charity to refuse, and, after- 
wards, we were almost daily visitors. When my aunt 
was not well, or the cold was too severe for her to ven- 
ture out, I went alone, and the unaffected pleasure which 
iny coming afforded him, amply rewarded me for the 
trouble. On such occasions, Martin was my ready escort. 
He was the same queer, faithful, old fellow as formerly, 
and had resumed that respectfully paternal bearing 
towards me which he had adopted after my rescue from 
Kollner’s hands. His aversion to young girls, especially 
waiting-maids, still continued, and I rarely met him with- 
out having to listen to a long tirade against poor Nannie. 
For awhile, her treatment of the Inspector filled him 
with indignation, and when I convinced him that the 
rupture between them was all for the best, he fell back 
upon the hackneyed charge of vanity and fickleness. 
But it was labor lost. I had tested Nannie pretty 
thoroughly, and all the evidence he could bring failed to 
make out a clear case, to my mind. 

The winter passed more quickly than I dared to hope, 
and spring with its sweet promises was again upon us. 
Already the pulses of the air were beginning to quicken 
at its soft touch, and light-winged messengers were busy 
preparing the way for its enthronement. There was an 
eager flutter of anticipation in Nature’s secret places, and 
her great heart throbbed with silent joy that the days of 
mourning and desolation were ended. It was one of our 
earliest, clear, sunny mornings when aunt and I went out 
for a short drive, and stopped, as usual, on our return, to 
look in upon the general. As we entered the hall, I found 
to my dismay that he was^ not alone. There were a 
number of hats and ladies’ wrappings upon the table, and 
I heard the murmur of voices in the adjoining rooms. 

“ It’s only a few people, Fräulein,” said the house- 
keeper, in reply to my question. Herr von Waldenstein 


ELEONORE. . 275 

and bis party, with two or three other families of the 
neighborhood.” 

I felt the blood leave my face, and my limbs trembled 
so that I could hardly stand. “ Can we not go away, 
dear aunt ?” I asked, faintly. “ The general does not 
need us to-day, and we can come again very soon.” 

“ It would look very strange, my dear ; and besides, you 
will have to overcome this feeling some time, — yon cannot, 
live a hermit forever.” 

I said no more, but followed her into the room. Wald- 
enstein was the first person I saw, but there was no 
trace of unpleasant surprise upon his countenance this 
time. His color deepened slightly as he came forward 
to meet us, and that was all. He introduced me to his 
sister, a beautiful woman, with a look of patient sufifering 
upon her face that won my sympathy at once, and then to 
a fair young girl, whom I did not need to be told was the 
happy Helen. Although we were nearly of the same age, 
she seemed several years my junior, and had about her a 
most captivating air of childish grace and naivete. I could 
not resist her advances, and before a dozen words had been 
exchanged between us, we were quite at home with each 
other. 

‘‘ Let’s go into the garden, Fräulein Lora,” said she, 
after a little while. “It’s dreadfully dull among all these 
old people ; and I’ve only been waiting for a companion 
to run away from them.” 

“Do you place me in that category?” asked Walden- 
stein, laughingly. 

“ Of course, uncles are always old men. But you can 
come too, and pay court to Frau von Rutwitz afterwards. 
Do you know,” she added, to. me, “your aunt is quite a 
flame with Hugo.” 

I made no reply, and Waldenstein, to my surprise, 
seemed perfectly at ease. 

“ Dispose of me as you please, Helen, I am resigned.” 

“ That means you are delighted to go,” she responded ; 
“for I know you are submissive only when it suits your 
inclination, — that is to everybody but me: I can twist 
you around my finger just as I please.” 

“ You are sadly disrespectful, Helen,” he replied, rather 


ELEONORE. 


STG 

seriously. “ I do not know what I shall do to establish 
my authority with you.” 

“ There, don’t be stern, Hugo, — it isn’t a bit becoming. 
“ If you’ll promise to be good. I’ll confess that I always 
have the feeling of playing with a lion when I tease 
you.” 

“ Helen has been peeping in Jean Paul lately, and 
imagines herself that school-boy who encountered the 
lion upon the sign-post, so valiantly, — I suppose we must 
humor the conceit.” 

“ Perhaps Fräulein Lora knows better, — but do look I 
Here comes the whole company after us, — it’s unfortunate 
to be so attractive.” 

It was a great relief to me, for I could not join in their 
raillery, and my silence began to be awkward. During 
the walk I observed Waldenstein making most unmistaka- 
ble attempts to gain my side; and when, at last, we were 
left alone, he said, hurriedly and with considerable agita- 
tion, — 

“ I feel greatly distressed, Fräulein Lora, at the change 
which has come over you. AVhen I saw you last fall it 
was in the evening, and I attributed your sad face to 
some transient cause. It pains me to see you so dis- 
pirited ; but if you will allow me to say it, you ought 
not to yield to your feelings in this way. Why seclude 
yourself from all society ? It only serves to nurse your 
sorrow and increase its power over you. Why not tear 
yourself away from solitary communings with the past 
and come back to life? You have a great many friends 
here who are longing to welcome you, and who are really 
hurt by your persistent avoidance of them. Poor Alma! 
I think it is the only cloud in her clear sky.” 

“Ah, Alma!” I answered, with a sigL “I want to 
see her very much ; but to tell the truth, I am afraid of 
her happiness.” 

“When it is this very happiness that will strengthen 
you. You are too unselfish for envy, and could not fail 
I know to catch some of its light.” 

My lips quivered. He did not, in his heart, believe in 
this unselfishness, — it was a mere word-compliment. 

“ You have rendered it impossible for me to visit Rut- 


ELEONORE. 


277 


witz, however much I may desire to do so,” he continued. 
“ I should hardly venture to act contrary to your express 
wish.” 

“ I trust you are not in earnest, Herr von Waldenstein,” 
I replied, unsteadily. “ I should be sorry to deprive my 
aunt of anything so highly prized as your visits. My 
words had no reference to you, since 1 knew very well 
that you did not come to see me that day.” 

“ Did you know it so well ?” he asked, bitterly, and 
then added, “ There was reason to suppose that my 
company would not be acceptable to you, and you could 
not think me unkind enough to deprive you of your aunt’s 
society for the sake of enjoying it myself.” 

“No, you were never unkind, only very cruel.” The 
words escaped my lips involuntarily, and I would have 
given anything to recall them. 

“ Frau von Rutwitz has been indiscreet,” said my com- 
panion, after a pause ; “ or rather has spoken too freely. 
But I hope you take into consideration, Fräulein, that, 
at the time of my interview with her, I was not in a 
frame of mind for calm judgment. I repented, — no, I 
will tell the truth, — that judgment was coiTected long 
ago, but not repented of until now. I was, of course, 
deceived, but never intentionally by you.” 

It seemed as if I should cry out in agony, but habit 
was stronger than impulse, — I was used to conquering 
my emotions, and I walked on in silence, leaving him un- 
disturbed in his conviction. He looked to me for a reply, 
but 1 had none to make, — I dare not speak, lest my voice 
should betray what was passing in my heart. 

“Can you pardon my injustice, Eleonore?” he con- 
tinued, breathing heavily, — “can you forgive me?” 

I bowed my head and smiled, — a sad, troubled smile, 
I suspect it was, but it satisfied him. 

“ You promised once to look upon me as a friend, to call 
upon me in case you needed a friend’s assistance. Will 
you try to forget, forget entirely, all that lies between 
then and now, and renew that promise ?” 

“Most willingly, Herr von Waldenstein, although I 
shall have little occasion to use this proffered friendship.” 

“ Thank you, — now my task is easier. You may 

24 


278 


ELEONORE. 


think me impertinent in what I am about to say, but no 
one knows you as thoroughly as I, and my opinion must 
be well founded.” 

My lips curled with an incredulous smile as I remem- 
bered that he, of all others, was the one to misjudge me 
most. 

“ I understand that smile, Fräulein Lora,” he pro- 
ceeded ; “ but, nevertheless, you cannot gainsay my 
words.” 

“If I guess rightly, Herr von Waldenstein, you have 
reference to my plans for the future, and, be assured, I 
shall receive your advice very gratefully.” 

“ You are right. I heard, accidentally, that you were 
fitting yourself for a teacher, and I have been watching 
for an opportunity to remonstrate with you against it, — 
it is the last thing you ought to think of. I do not mis- 
take the motive that influences you, but I am convinced 
you would never succeed. You have an independent 
mind, but no independence of character. You could plant 
good in the young heart, but the rooting out of the evil, the 
preparation of the soil for the fruitful seed, requires too 
much antagonism and self-reliance. Whatever changes 
the hard school of life may work in us, it always respects 
individuality, — it may strengthen weak capacities, but it 
never create new ones ; cripple original faults, but never 
totally eradicate them. Do not attempt to overstep the 
bounds nature has set, — you will fail most surely, and 
fail because you strove after the impossible.” 

“You trouble me, Herr von Waldenstein,” I replied, 
faintly, — “ the more, because I feel the truth of what 
you say. But what shall I do ? — it is hard to be of no 
use in the world.” 

“ Did I suggest that as an alternative ?” 

“ No, you did not say so, but I inferred it.” 

“ Then your inference is false. I spoke only of your 
fitness for a teacher. Woman’s work is, by no means, 
confined to this one profession, — for instance, I think you 
are admirably adapted to a sick room.” 

“ Do you ?” I exclaimed, brightening up ; “ then I 
might go to an infirmary, or become a Sister.” 

“ Pardon me, you could not. To care for the sick, to 


ELEONORE. 


279 


cheer and help them by occasional visitations, is very 
different from being a professional nurse. Both education 
and habit would make you shrink from the duties imposed 
upon such a calling, and hinder your efficiency. Have 
you courage for the lonely night-watchings, strength of 
nerve to listen to the ravings of fever and the groans 
of the dying 

I shuddered. “ We are back where we started, Herr 
von Waldenstein, — you will have to admit I am a useless 
being.’’ 

“ It’s too bad to contradict you again. If Frau von 
Rutwitz were to utter her feelings on the subject, she 
would say that Lora was the greatest joy of her life, and 
that to rob her of this in her old age, would be cruel in 
the extreme. The years devoted to the help and comfort 
of this noble friend cannot be wholly useless. When the 
true profit and loss of this world are reckoned up, it may 
not be recorded in the score of the latter that you cheered 
the declining pathway of the faithful old people around 
her, that you relieved the sick and consoled the sorrow- 
ing, entered with hearty sympathy into the pleasures of 
those beneath you, and helped by everything in your 
power to bridge over the chasm between the rich and poor, 
the ignorant and cultivated. Then, if this educating im- 
pulse still continues, your unsummoned masculine adviser 
will be indulgent enough to allow you a little school for 
poor children in your own house, — that would be a 
tolerable substitute for the governess idea, would it not 

For a moment I did not know what to say. I could 
not tell him that he was the one obstacle in the way of such 
a course, that it was chiefly to avoid him that I had 
planned a residence among strangers. 

“Your advice is good,' as far as it goes,” said I, at 
length, “ but I cannot stay at Rutwitz forever. As you 
know, at my aunt’s death the estate returns to her hus- 
band’s family, and I should then be obliged to leave.” 

“ You look a good ways ahead in your plans, Fräulein 
Lora.” 

“ Yes, and if you knew what it was to feel yourself 
homeless, you would not wonder that I do.” 

He looked at me with surprise, and then said, earn- 


280 


ELEONORE. 


estly, “ Forgive me, Eleonore, if I have pained you, but, 
at your age, most persons consider life at their own dis- 
posal, and think little of those accidents which so fre- 
quently control its destiny.” He paused awhile, and 
then added, with evident effort, “Your true mission is 
the fairest, the most womanly, that can possibly fall to 
one of your sex. In your husband’s house, in the 
warmth of his love, your character will unfold into use- 
fulness and beauty; there is your fittest sphere.” 

We had reached the house by this time, and, fortu- 
nately, no re{)ly to this speech was necessary. It seemed 
as if he had purposely been trying me to the utmost, and 
I could not have endured the strain much longer. 

“You are sure we part good friends, Eleonore?” he 
asked, as we turned to go in, and took my hand. 

“ Quite sure,” I answered, hastily. 

“ And you will take no step without ” 

“ Without consulting you,” I interrupted. “ Oh, no ; 
certainly not.” 

His fingers closed around mine tightly, and I felt their 
touch, not icy cold as before, but warm and beating with 
life. We stood for an instant looking into each other’s 
eyes, and then he turned abruptly away. This conver- 
sation had unnerved me completely, and the rest of my 
stay became mere torture. My aunt saw that I was not 
feeling well, and, at an early hour, ordered the carriage 
for our departure. 

“ It’s real bad in you to go so soon, Fräulein Eleo- 
nore,” said Helen, pouting, “and you must promise to 
come and see us very soon. I will try to cheer you up. 
Youth doesn’t last long, they tell me. I don’t believe 
that, do you ? but I mean to make the best of it. I wish 
you would invite me to Rutwitz. I have wanted to go 
so much, but that tyrant, Hugo, absolutely forbids it. 
Of course, I shouldn’t mind that, only he will not let me 
have the horses. Do please speak to him about it, — • 
there he is now, — tell him you’ll be delighted to have 
me come.” And the thoughtless child linked her arm 
through mine and drew me hastily towards him. 

“ Fräulein Eleonore has given me a pressing invita- 
tion to Rutwitz, Hugo,” she cried, before we were fairly 


ELEONORE. 


281 


within speaking distance. “ She thinks it is barbarous 
in you to refuse me a conveyance, and has come herself 
to lecture you.” 

“ Did she constitute you her mouth-piece he inquired, 
laughing ; and then turning to me, “ Has this little plague 
really coaxed this favor from you?” 

“I came to ask your permission for the visit,” was my 
reply. 

“ That means your permission or refusal has nothing 
to do with it, except so far as the carriage is con- 
cerned.” 

“ My carriage is at your disposal, Helen ; but I should 
think you might have included me in your petition to 
Fräulein Lora.” 

“ Why, your company was taken for granted, I sup- 
posed, — everybody knows we go together. You ex- 
pected Hugo to come, too, didn’t you, Fräulein Lora ?” 

“I have already expressed to Herr von Waldenstein 
ray regret at not seeing him for so long at the castle. A 
repetition of the invitation is unnecessary,” I replied, 
rather distantly. 

“ There, what more can you desire, Herr Hugo ? The 
truth is, this uncle of mine wants to be urged and en- 
treated ; but don’t you gratify him. Men are vain enough 
without any of our stimulating.” 

Thus, in one short morning, was my tranquillity of 
mind, so hardly attained, put to flight, and the old unrest 
pressed back upon me, but I could not say that I re- 
gretted it. There was a little tremor of joy mingled 
with the pain that made me hesitate. The assurance 
that Waldenstein’s harsh judgment was recalled, — and 
recalled, too, without any knowledge of the deception 
])racticed against him, — the thought that I had now 
nothing to fear in meeting him, — this gave me unspeak- 
able relief, while the deep interest he had evinced in my 
affairs half intoxicated my poor, silly heart. But then 
came the sure conviction of his betrothal to Helen ; my 
own eyes had seen sufficient proof of this, — and even if 
it were possible to win him back, I could not condemn 
her to a lifetime of suffering. Again my lips uttered 
24 * 


282 


ELEONORE. 


that prayer so frequently upon them of late, “ My Father, 
lead me not into temptation.” 

It came very natural to obey him, — so natural that I 
never once thought whether I was following his advice, 
or my own will, in forming the resolution to visit Alma 
the next day. I placed my aunt in a state of the great- 
est astonishment and delight by the announcement of 
this decision, and when the morning came, she was in 
quite a flutter of anxiety lest 1 had abandoned the idea. 
My old friend received me with open arms. 

“How are you going to justify yourself, Lora ?” she 
exclaimed, embracing me cordially. “You have been a 
whole six months in the neighborhood, and would neither 
come here nor let me go to see you I Out of regard to 
your white face I will forgive you, but you had better 
not exasperate me further, or 1 shall go to Rutwitz in 
spite of you, and stay a good two weeks or more.” 

“ What would Willibald say to such a proceeding, 
Alma?” asked aunt, playfully. 

“Not much in favor of it, I presume, but it would be a 
good thing for him to learn that I can do without him ; 
he is altogether too sure of me. But I must send for 
the mamma, — she will never forgive me if I keep her in 
ignorance of your visit for a' moment. You see Stina is 
superseded,” she continued, as the servant disappeared. 
“In her place we have this liveried fellow, with whom I 
find no fault, except that he smokes, and smokes Willi- 
bald’s cigars generally, which Stina never did ; consid- 
ers Willibald’s table-wines common property, which 
Stina also never did, and thinks it quite beneath his 
dignity to work, which I am sure never occurred to that 
simple maiden’s understanding.” 

The good mamma appeared just here and interrupted 
this lively description, and in a short time coffee was 
served. 

“ I hope you notice our display of silver and other 
extravagancies, Lora,” resumed Alma, taking her seat at 
the head of the table. “We throw the old-fashioned 
mamma’s arrangements so far into the shade that she 
would be overpowered with mortification, if there was 
the least particle of ambition in her breast.” 


ELEONORE. 


283 


“ Make sport of it as you will, Alma,” laughed Frau 
Miiller, “ you like your elegant furniture nevertheless.” 

“ That’s just it, mamma, — it’s that which gives me the 
right to laugh. Besides, I have the double satisfaction of 
seeing Willibald’s aristocratic notions gratified, and of 
putting Sophie in the worst possible humor when she 
comes to see us.” 

“Shame on you, Alma I” said Frau Miiller. “Why 
do you say such things ?” 

“•There is some excuse for my wickedness,” replied 
Alma. “I cannot forget that this magnificence into 
which Willibald led me, poor mortal ! Was intended for 
the goddess. Apropos, Lora, what sort of a furnace do 
you keep at the capital for fusing and remoulding char- 
acter? Willibald was sent to you a thorough poet, 
dreamer, idealist, — everything, in short, that fitted him for 
a promenade among the clouds. He returns suddenly, 
too suddenly, for Sophie has her batteries unmasked and 
her plan of campaign all exposed. He sees the condi- 
tion of things at a glance, but instead of pouring forth 
his disappointment in touching verse, as a genuine poet 
ought to have done, he discovers that his goddess is an 
earth-born maiden, rather antiquated, and with as many 
faults and foibles as other mortals. The man who be- 
fore reveled in poetic visions now walks securely amidst 
realities, and develops an independence which makes him 
smile with sovereign contempt at the old conflict between 
his tastes and position. Herr Willibald Miiller is con- 
vinced that without the poet’s nimbus, or any other ex- 
ternal adornment, he is a superior man, who will be valued 
for himself wherever he goes, — and Herr Willibald Miil- 
ler is right, as he was also in falling in love with me and 
making me his wife.” 

“ Only a return to the old love, my dear,” interposed 
Mamma Miiller; “that flame was kindled when he was a 
mere boy.” 

“ It was smothered with ashes then, mamma, and his 
city residence revdved it, — the miracle is all the same. 
Then here is Hugo Waldenstein,” she resumed, earnestly, 
“ who wasn’t sent to the city, but vanished thither of his 
own accord. This frank, social man comes back as mys- 


284 


ELEONORE. 


teriously as my husband ; but he behaves like a Carthu- 
sian friar, keeps out of sight, and tacitly proclaims to 
everybody, 'noli me tangereV 

" You forget Hugo’s engagement,” rejoined the old 
lady, — “that explains his seclusion.” 

“ I don’t believe in this engagement, mamma. Wald- 
enstein doesn’t look like a happy lover.” 

“You will have to do so, my little Alma, for he told 
me of it himself, or as good as told me, — there can be no 
doubt of the truth of the report.” 

“ Well, I shall take it upon me to question this non- 
committal gentleman the first time I see him, for I’m in- 
credulous still,” she replied, with a queer look at me ; and 
then, after a slight pause, continued, “ I presume you 
know, Lora, that Bella has consoled Tauenfeld? He is 
not as bashful a husband as he was lover, and really 
seems to have a mind of his own, which, by the way, is 
a genuine blessing to my flighty sister. Sophie is the 
only one of the triplet still left sitting by the domestic 
hearth, and she is a sort of incubus upon mamma and 
Felix’s wife. The general is trying to secure her a canon- 
icate, and I hope he will succeed. For a wonder, she 
has declared herself willing to accept it, but not until she 
was satisfied that her future associates belonged to good 
society. You may not be aware, Lora, that Sophie has 
developed into a stanch aristocrat, — she speaks of her 
sister Alma sometimes, but never of her sister Miiller, 
while sister Tauenfeld is adopted throughout, — that von 
has a sweet sound in her ears.” 

“ Hold your saucy tongue, Alma!” cried the mamma, 
shaking her finger threateningly. “We ought to enter- 
tain Lora with something better than gossip.” 

But the reproof was unheeded, and she went on with 
her pleasant chit-chat, insisting upon it that I ought to 
be informed as to what had been going on among my 
friends while I was away, and protesting that no one 
could give this information so well as herself. The master 
of the house joined us just before we left, and aston- 
ished me by the easy courtesy and aflTability of his bear- 
ing, — surely poison in his case had been a most effica- 
cious remedy. It was a happy, contented household, 


ELEONORE. 


285 


and as I looked back and saw Alma standing in the door, 
proudly encircled by her husband’s arm, and an expres- 
sion of perfect trust and repose upon her countenance, I 
could not help a little envy stealing into my soul. Still, 
I felt better for seeing her. The reflection of her sun- 
shine had fallen upon me, and my dull life was warmed 
and enlivened by the glow. Waldenstein was right, and 
in my heart I thanked him. 

A few days after this, I was agreeably surprised by 
the reception of a letter from the Countess Francisca. I 
had written to her several times in the course of the win- 
ter without receiving any reply, and had begun to fear she 
wuis offended by the return of her first letter. “ Are you 
satisfied with my discretion, my dear Lora ?” she wrote. 
“ I have waited six months before answering you, and 
now send nothing inclosed, having informed Rudolph 
laconically, that all letters intrusted to me for you will 
go up my chimney. You were wise to return the one I 
did forward, and yet, could you have guessed his disap- 
pointment, I do not think you would have had the strength 
to do it. He left for England shortly after I came back, but 
made me promise to transmit to him every scrap of intelli- 
gence concerning you that fell into my hands. I write now 
principally on his account. My silence has exasperated 
him, and he declares that if 1 do not find some other 
way for him to see you, he will go to Rutwitz and force 
himself upon your aunt’s hospitality. Time does not ap- 
pear to have allayed the warmth of his attachment, and 
your marriage is the only thing to convince him that you 
cannot be his. What a pity that that compound of per- 
fections, Waldenstein, has found some one to bind up his 
wounded affections! but it is manlike, — Rudolph is a 
remarkable exception to that noble sex, and altogether a 
strange puzzle. At times he talks and acts as if he were 
perfectly heartless, and again he is as full of tenderness, 
as gentle as a woman To those whom he likes he gives 
his whole heart, but woe to the man w’ho makes a foe of 
him! ‘Love your enemies’ is not in his gospel. How 
he contrived to seal Edith’s lips with regard to your de- 
parture I do not see, but she has employed her finest art 
in your favor, and society was quite affected by the un- 


286 


ELEONORE. 


selfish devotion which prompted you to hasten to the 
succor of an invalid aunt just at the commencement of 
the season. 

“ The most extraordinary news I have to communi- 
cate is, that Baron Kollner, alias Orlando, now parades 
our salons without disguise, in the full glory of his irre- 
sistible beauty. The Duke has taken him into close 
confidence, and introduces him as his friend, t This would 
be of little consequence to us were it not for his unfor- 
tunate resemblance to Rudolph. Edith still cherishes 
her mad passion for the latter, and in the absence of the 
original has taken up with this miserable counterfeit. She 
has played with him until she is now wholly in his power, 
and his insolent daring has reached a terrible pitch. 
Hardeck was right, Lora, — it would have been better to 
tell your father the truth. His life with that woman is 
all a sham, and his happiness a melancholy delusion. He 
does not know that the man whom he entertains is the 
one who trifled so desperately with his daughter’s reputa- 
tion, nor does he appear to have the slightest suspicion 
of the scandal brewing under his very eyes. Poor man I 
the blow will fall heavily when it comes. He speaks of 
you very often to me, and, at times, is really unhappy 
over your prolonged absence. To save you from being 
recalled, I have intimated that Waldenstein’s bethrothal 
is probably a false report', and that he is still inter- 
ested in you. Heaven knows why, but your father 
desires nothing more than that you should marry this 
hero, and so he leaves you undisturbed. Waldenstein 
was never according to my taste, as you lyjow. I do 
not like the broad day, — a sort of twilight, like Rudolph, 
is more pleasing to me. Besides, when one sets up for 
a pattern, he ought not to show himself as weak as every- 
body else, — even the Prince has to agree with me in this, 
notwithstanding his partiality for the young man. The 
old gentleman is rarely seen in Edith’s salon now, — he 
talks much of you, and is planning a way to see both his 
flames again (the other is Frau von Niederstadt). 

“ Now I have told you all that lies upon my heart, dear 
Lora, and I only regret that I am not able to give you 
any advice with reference to Rudolph. Talk with your 


ELEONORE. 


28 t 


aunt about it; perhaps she can suggest something. If 
you would like to see me, I may come to you for a few 
weeks, but not unless the Duke leaves the city, or your 
father takes Edith to Kronenberg, — until then, my place 
is near Robert.” 

This report of Edith frightened me. Was my father to 
be the victim of her selfish indulgence after all? Must 
the calamity which I had hoped to avert from him by my 
sacrifice fall at last ? Hardeck gave me no anxiety. I 
knew him too well to fear he would put his threat into 
execution, and could only regret that he persisted in 
nourishing his unfortunate passion. 


XXIY. 

My first business the following morning was to answer 
Erancisca’s letter. I implored Count Hardeck, through 
her, not to force upon me a useless interview, and to 
give up all thought of ever seeing me again. I knew 
she would send him my reply, and I knew as well that 
my wishes (if he was thoroughly persuaded they were 
mine) would be respected b}^ him. I was in the midst of 
my writing when a dainty little tap came at the door, and 
in response to an unceremonious “ come in,” the glossy 
brown curls and rosy cheeks of Helen peeped in. 

“ May I, come, Fräulein Eleonore?” she asked, shyly. 

A disturljance at that moment was not particularly 
welcome, but the timid glance of those bright blue eyes, 
and the plaintive voice, were not be resisted. 

“ I do not know why it is, Fräulein Eleonore,” said she, 
twining her arms about me, “ but I have loved you ever 
since that first day we met, — and I guess I did before 
that, for they told me you were unhappy, and that made 
me so sorry, but you are so reserved. When I came along 
the hall just now, iny heart almost jumped out of my mouth 
at what I was doing, — but it’s all right now, isn’t it?” 

“ Yes, dear Helen, I am glad you came ; and you must 


288 


ELEONORE, 


not be frightened by my reserve, — it is not natural, and 
will soon wear off, I hope.” 

“ Must I always call you Fräulein Eleonore ?” she con- 
tinued, coaxinglv. “ Fräulein Ella is so much shorter, 
and prettier too, I think.” 

“Not that I” I answered, quickly. “ I should not like 
to hear you say that, — call me simply Lora I” And then, 
half afraid of the reply I might receive, I added, “But 
you did not come alone to the castle ?” 

“Oh, no; poor mamma is on the veranda, — she has 
been very sick, did you know it ? — and Hugo too. I 
must present you immediately, or they will accuse me of 
being selfish.” 

Frau von Niederstadt still looked very feeble, and I 
almost wondered at her coming out. “You see I am not 
exactly in a visiting condition, Fräulein Eleonore,” said 
she, cordially extending her hand, “ but Helen’s entreaties 
as well as my own feelings induced me to make the 
effort ” 

I took a seat near her; leaving Waldenstein, after the 
first few words of salutation, to my aunt and Helen ; but 
his eyes kept wandering continually towards us, and he 
soon found an excuse for changing his position. 

“ You have no idea of the dark designs we have against 
you, Fräulein Eleonore,” said he, gayly. “ I should never 
have ventured upon so bold an undertaking but for the 
support of my sister and Helen.” 

I looked at him with surprise, while the latter bounded 
forward and put her band over his mouth. 

“ You sliall not say a word, Hugo, — I am going to 
manage it. You will make a bungle of it, and she will 
refuse.” 

“ What will I refuse ?” I asked, somewhat bewildered. 

“ I will not tell you until you promise not to^say ‘ no.’ 
If you do, you will spoil all my pleasure, — that is, not 
all, — I don’t mean that, but I shall be so sorry.” 

“ Helen is employing her usual tactics, exciting your 
curiosity in order to gain her point,” said Waldenstein. 
“But I fear she reckons without her host this time, so I 
will disclose the wonderful secret. There is a birthday 
coming in a few days, and the important event is to be 


. ELEONORE. 


289 


celebrated by a small social gathering, under the auspices 
of your fair petitioner. We have come in a body to re- 
quest the honor of Fräulein Eleonorens presence on that 
occasion.” 

“ You are real bad, Hugo I” cried Helen, before I could 
reply. “ I should have done it a great deal better ; but 
you won’t punish me for his clumsiness, will you, Fräu- 
lein Lora ? — you will come ? There are only going to be a 
few people and all old acquaintances. YOu don’t know 

what you’ll miss, — it’s my birthday, and my ” she 

stopped in pretty confusion, hesitated, and then added, 
hastily, “ Frau von Rutwitz has consented, and you will 
not let her come alone ?” 

Her blushes and stammering speech made my heart 
tremble, and I glanced involuntarily at her dress. She was 
no longer in mourning, — the necessary delay was at an 
end, and what more natural than that the birthday festival 
should witness also the public announcement of her be- 
trothal ? My going was out of the question, — I dare not 
expose myself to such a trial. 

“ I am not in a frame of mind for scenes of that kind, 
Fräulein Helen,” I answered, decidedly. “ Some time 
when you are alone I will come gladly.” 

“There, Hugo, she will not cornel” she exclaimed, 
half weeping. “What can we do, dear mamma? — you 
try, please.” 

“ Must I be an unsuccessful pleader too ?” asked Frau 
von Niederstadt, in her sweet, earnest tones. “We know 
it is asking a great deal, but it will have to be made 
some time, and you cannot misunderstand us if we urge 
it now for our own gratification. It was my sole object 
in coming here to-day, and I am sure you will reward 
the slight sacrifice on my part by this larger one.” . 

I was placed in a most uncomfortable position. I alone 
knew the extent of this sacrifice, and yet a further refusal 
would appear disobliging and perverse. My aunt, too, 
pressed the niatter ; and assailed thus on all sides, I 
could do nothing but consent. Helen loaded me with 
caresses, and then flew to her mother, saying it was so 
nice to have a dear mamma who could smooth over the 
blunders of her awkward old uncle. Waldenstein’s thanks 
If 25 


290 


ELEONORE. 


did not find expression in words, but his eyes were 
eloquent with approval. They rested upon mine so con- 
tentedly, and yet so full of eager longing, that my heart 
almost stood still in bewildered joy and expectation ; but 
the next instant I shrank horrified from the thought 
that such feelings could find lodgment with me for a mo- 
ment, and I resolved not to look at him again while he 
stayed. 

“ I very much feared, Lora, you would decline this in- 
vitation,” said my aunt, when we were alone. “ Walden- 
stein’s former attentions to you are, of course, known, and 
your presence at the publication of his engagement to 
Helen, — the dear child confided to me the secret of this 
birthday, — that, I say, will be the best way, both as re- 
gards him and the world, of extricating yourself from all 
embarrassment and re-establishing the old friendly rela- 
tions.” 

I said nothing, knowing, alas! too well, that mere 
friendly relations could never exist between us again. I 
had seen him quite frequently since that interview in the 
general’s garden, but the meetings had always been painful 
to me. Perhaps it was weakness, but to remain near 
him, to have the fire of love in my heart constantly 
tended while I struggled to extinguish it, seemed worse 
than the torture of Prometheus. I would delay no longer, 
but tell my aunt frankly how I felt, and ask her assist- 
ance in finding another home. I decided, however, to 
postpone this confession until after Helen’s birthday, 
since I needed all niy strength to bear me through that 
trial. On the afternoon preceding the festival, Nannie 
came, considerably excited, to tell me that Herr von 
Waldenstein was with my aunt and wanted to see me. 

“ I am not in the mood to see company,” 1 replied ; 

ask aunt to excuse me.” 

“ But my lady sent for you, Fräulein Lora,” she per- 
sisted. 

“ Tell her I am not feeling well, — she will understand 
it,” said I, in a manner that left her no room to doubt my 
decision. 

She departed with the message, but was no sooner 
gone than I repented having sent it. I tried to read, 


ELEONORE, 


291 


but my thoughts wandered from the page and the words 
had no meaning. As soon as I heard the rumbling of 
the carriage and knew that she was alone, I sought my 
aunt’s room, quite forgetting my role of invalid in the 
desire to hear something of her visitor. She looked sur- 
prised at seeing me, and expressed great regret that I 
had not come down before, but that was all. In fact, 
Herr von Waldenstein seemed to have left a troubled 
atmosphere behind him. The good lady was silent and 
thoughtful all the evening, and retired early to her cham- 
ber. But even a night’s rest did not dissipate the cloud 
of anxious perplexity upon her brow, and when we met 
in the morning she appeared as little in the mood for the 
day’s enjoyment as I felt. Our ride ought to have been 
a pleasant one, for the weather was fine and the country 
in its fairest dress, but scarcely a word passed between 
us, and our faces looked as if we had set out for a 
funeral instead of a fete. 

I had often passed Waldenstein’s residence in my 
walks, but the house lay far back from the road, and 
only the broad linden avenue was familiar to me. From 
Edith’s descriptions, I expected to see a modest dwell- 
ing, considerably dilapidated, and anything but invit- 
ing, — she had taken great pains to impress that picture 
upon me. My astonishment, therefore, was complete, 
when we stopped before the door of a large, elegant man- 
sion, surrounded by handsome grounds, and wearing a 
most delightful air of hospitality and domestic comfort. 
Our host met us at the door with a beaming counte- 
nance, at the sight of which my aunt’s troubled expres- 
sion deepened. As we entered the parlors, I observed 
several uniforms conspicuous here and there among the 
guests, one of which, from some little peculiarity of orna- 
ment, especially attracted my attention. 

That young man with so much embroidery on his 
coat can hardly be a general,” said I to Helen, who had 
appropriated me immediately to herself, — “ he looks too 
young for that, and yet ” 

She interrupted me with a merry laugh. That is 
splendid 1 — a general I I shall go this moment and tell 
him how he has imposed upon you.” And away she went, 


292 


FLEONORE 


but returned directly, bringing the handsome young 
oflBcer with her. 

“Fräulein von Soltendorf,” she be«an, with great 
solemnity, “ 1 have the honor, — how shall I introduce 
you she exclaimed, abruptly, turning to her compan- 
ion. “You have so many titles, that I do not know 
which to choose. Shall I say Surgeon of the Staff, Sur- 
geon of the Regiment, or Private Physician to his Royal 
Highness, Prince Stephen 

“ I think Surgeon of the Regiment will be enough 
here,” was the laughing reply. 

“ Then let me present, with that distinction, Herr 
Adolph Turenberg, whose school holidays were specially 
devoted to making my acquaintance, through skating- 
parties, ball playing, etc.” 

He had a fine face, and a frank, earnest manner, that 
would have w’'on him friends anywhere, but I did not 
talk much with him, for Helen drew me away to see her 
presents, and shortly after we were summoned to dinner. 
This, I felt sure, would be the time chosen for the dreaded 
announcement, and I prayed most fervently for strength 
to bear me through the trying hour. To my great satis- 
faction, I found myself seated between the general and 
Willibald Miiller, and directing my attention wholly to 
them, I strained every nerve to stiffen my courage for 
what was to come. When the cloth was removed, Wald- 
enstein arose, and, in clear, full tones, proposed the 
health of her in whose honor the entertainment was 
given, and her happiness in the new relation into which 
she had entered. I could not hear the rest. His voice 
sounded miles away, and my senses refused to do their 
office. It seemed as if every drop of blood had left my 
face, and was making its way slowly to my heart, while 
my hands were so cold that they almost froze together. 
I seized my glass mechanically, and, as I raised it to my 
lips, my half-blinded eyes fell upon the party opposite. 
I fairly gasped for breath. Did I see aright? Helen’s 
bright face was not lifted to Hugo’s, but turned trust- 
fully, smilingly, towards Herr von Turenberg, who, as I 
now saw, occupied the place on her right. There could 
be no doubt of it ; he was the happy man who thus 


ELEONORE. 


293 


publicly claimed her childish heart. I shook like an 
aspeii-leaf, and the glass almost dropped from my baud. 
I do not think I experienced a 'single emotion of joy, — I 
was merely bewildered. Half in a dream, I offered my 
congratulations to the blushing girl, and when the com- 
pany arose from the table, I followed them in the same 
trancelike state into the summer-house. Afterwards, I 
accepted the general’s invitation for a promenade upon 
the terrace, scarcely knowing what he said, and re- 
sponded to his enthusiastic admiration of a cluster of 
roses, when I could not have told whether roses or cab- 
bages were before me. 

“ Do you like the grouping of these roses ?” asked 
Waldenstein, who had followed us uuperceived. ‘‘It is 
my sister’s arrangement. There is a much larger col- 
lection farther on, which I should like to show you, with 
the general’s permission.” 

I had no interest whatever in the flowers, but assented 
to the proposition, because that seemed to be the thing 
expected of me. After a few steps, he turned aside into 
one of the more retired paths, and, apparently forgetful 
of our errand, began talking of Helen and her lover. 

“I learnecT to-day, somewhat to my amazement,” he 
added, afte^a little, “that I had been taken for her be- 
trothed, and I can see now that such an inference is not 
wholly absurd. Until recently I have not been in favor 
of this marriage, and the occasional allusions to her en- 
gagement have been treated by me in a way that might 
lead one to suppose 1 was personally concerned in it. I 
have been loth to give up my little companion, but the 
day of her loss is blessed to me, nevertheless.” 

He had spoken thus far quite calmly, but his voice 
trembled as he continued, and the words came slowly 
and indistinctly : 

“ I have sometimes thought myself on the verge of 
madness to still 'cherish hopes which, long ago, ought to 
have been dead and buried, but, since yesterday — to-day 
Eleonore, did you believe Helen was to be my wife?” 

‘•How could i help believing it, when every one said 
it was true?” I returned, faintly. 

25 * 


294 


ELEONORE. 


/‘Ah, how little you knew me!” said he. “Years 
could not have closed that wound in my heart, — healed 

it will never be, except by ” Again he hesitated. “I 

saw your face at table, Eleonore : tell me, was that on 
my account? There is no Edith between us now, — we 
are face to face with each other, — was I deceived again ? 
Do you love me now ?” 

“ You were never deceived in me, Hugo,” said I, look- 
ing at him frankly ; “it was Edith who did it all.” 

For a moment he stood speechless, while upon his 
countenance there gathered an expression of mingled re- 
gret, pain, and tenderness. Then his eyes kindled, and 
drawing me to him in a close, passionate embrace, he 
murmured, softly, — 

“ Eleonore, my poor darling, my precious, precious 
Eleonore, — I have indeed been cruel to you!” 

It was all over now, — the suffering, the endurance, the 
weary, weary loneliness ; but the lightening of the bur- 
den had been too sudden, my whole nature too crushed, 
to comprehend, all at once, this blessed deliverance, and 
leaning my head upon his shoulder, I burst into tears. 
He led me to a seat near by, and, still holding me in his 
arms, gently whispered in my ear such sweet words of 
love, that I grew strong unconsciously. He asked for 
no explanation, no assurances of my havipiiiess, — he 
seemed to understand it all, and I was content that he 
did thus understand it. 

I do not know how long it was before I saw General 
Werding’s stout form through the trees, and suspect- 
ing he had come in search of us, hurried Waldenstein 
away. Some time elapsed before I could make up my 
mind to follow him, and I was glad that my aunt’s health 
required our early departure. Hugo took leave of us as 
usual, but a happy to-morrow beamed in his eyes as he 
handed me into the carriage. When we reached home, 
I endeavored to slip away to my room, so that I might 
enjoy my happiness all alone for awhile, but my aunt 
detained me. 

“ Have you refused Waldenstein a second time, Lora ?” 
she asked, as the door closed behind us. 


ELEONORE. 


295 


“ I did not refuse him the first time, dear aunt, and 
am now his promised wife.” 

“ Thank God !” she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. 
“ But why did you make a martyr of me by that formal 
parting ?” 

“ I did not know it could trouble you, aunt, — there was 
no intentional reserve on account of your presence.” 

“ You were not to blame, of course, but a foolish act 
of indiscretion on my part has made me wretched and 
nervous ever since. When Waldenstein was here yes- 
terday he spoke of you, expressed the deepest sorrow at 
having entertained so false an opinion with regard to 
your conduct, and begged my forgiveness for the unjust 
words he had uttered. I have always wanted to tell him 
the truth, and was weak enough, in reply to this con- 
fession, to reveal the whole story of that bouquet. But 
the effect of this disclosure caused me speedily to repent 
my rashness. He fairly glared at me while I was speak- 
ing, and afterwards wrung my hand so violently, that I 
almost cried out with pain. ‘ She never received my 
letter, — never knew I loved her 1’ he cried, walking the 
floor excitedly. ‘And I scorned her message, condemned 
as frivolity what was merely maidenly shyness. Ah ! 
how blind we are, how weak, just when we think our- 
selves strongest!’ Then he asked to see you, if only for 
one moment, but I, supposing you were really ill, re- 
fused. ‘Never mind,’ said he, cheerfully; ‘ but I hope 
you will keep your promise for to-morrow, my lady, 
or I shall be strongly tempted to leave my friends and 
come after you.’ And taking up his hat, he was gone 
before I could answer a word. I certainly feared he was 
out of his mind, for I saw him going away on foot, and 
the carriage following empty behind. When I reflected 
upon his strange behavior, I concluded the report of 
his betrothal to Helen was false ; still, I had no evidence 
of your attachment to him, and felt that I had probably 
paved the way for his second disappointment. Altogether 
you gave me rather a sleepless night, and the day has 
been anything but a merry one.” 

“You are relieved from all anxiety now, dear aunt,” 
said I, laughing. “ And I have to thank you for the pre- 


296 


ELEONORE. 


tended indiscretion, — it has wrought a great change in 
my life ’’ 

I went to sleep that night so happy that it seemed as 
if nothing could ever again disturb or trouble me, but I 
was not yet done with the dark days of the past. Early 
the next morning 1 received by telegraph the following 
message from the Countess Francisca : ^'Edith is dead. 
The end has come. We leave for Butwitz immediately 
after the funeral.'^ This was a terrible blow, an unex- 
pected cloud in my bright firmament, but it did not hide 
the sun. Waldenstein was with me, and no misfortune 
could fall heavily, now that I had his support and sym- 
pathy. In a few days they came. My father looked 
haggard and worn, — his hair was almost white, his 
features sunken, and his statel}'’ form bowed. 

‘‘ My child, my Lora I” was all his greeting to me, but 
the words were full of meaning, and his embrace was so 
tender, so half-reverential, that it brought the tears to my 
eyes. But notwithstanding his altered appearance, Edith’s 
death seemed to have affected him but little, and he 
actually reproved me one day for the deep mourning 
which I wore. “ Something lighter would have satisfied 
appearances just as well,” he said. 

“This ‘satisfying appearances’ is all Robert thinks 
of,” remarked Francisca, afterwards. “ His love for 
Edith has vanished like a phantom of the night, and I 
believe her loss is a relief to him. He cannot compre- 
hend his blindness now, and is ashamed of having been 
so weak. But the Circe had him completely bound, and 
he was powerless to shake off her yoke until the enchant- 
ment was torn aside. There is no bitterness in his feel- 
ing, — he reproaches himself alone, and that most severely 
when he talks of his child. So as you were unwittingly 
the cause of the catastrophe, it is you who have given 
him the keenest suffering.” 

“ What do you say, Aunt Francisca?” I cried. “ I the 
cause of the catastrophe I” 

“ That need not alarm you, Lora, for it had to come 
sooner or later. Kö’llner was so vain of his triumph over 
this beautiful, courted woman, that he desired all the 
world to know it. As for Edith’s reputation, position. 


ELEONORE. 


297 


or happiness, — that had not a feather’s weight with him. 
With the exception of Robert and the Duke, I presume 
there was no one in your circle, perhaps not in the city, 
who did not know of this scandalous liason.'^ 

“ But what had I to do with my father’s discovery of 
this ?” 

“ Strangely enough, that came about through your 
mother’s jewels. 1 wrote to you in my last letter that 
you were regaining your old place in your father’s love, 
and I may have been instrumental in effecting this, for I 
often talked with him about you, and endeavored to coun- 
teract the effect of Edith’s misrepresentations. Poor, 
deluded man ! he listened to me indulgently, sometimes 
expressed regret at his wife’s short-sightedness, but never 
once doubted her, or her love for you. Well, in the 
course of one of these conversations he mentioned your 
reckless extravagance, at which I merely laughed.” 

‘“You will cease laughing, Francisca, when 1 tell you 
Lora sold her mother’s jewels,’ said he, with a troubled 
air. 

“ ‘ True, Robert,’ I replied. ‘ I shall not laugh, I am 
too much astonished. Those jewels were never in Lora’s 
possession, and how could she have disposed of them V 

“ ‘ She certainly did have them, Francisca,’ he answered, 
decidedly. ‘ Edfth gave them to her soon after she came 
home.’ 

“ ‘ I presume Edith has forgotten, for she wore them 
constantly herself; and when Lora, in consequence, was 
obliged to appear at court without ornaments, I wanted 
to speak to you about it, but the dear child implored me 
not to do so.’ 

“ ‘But Lora acknowledged it herself,’ said he, with a 
puzzled look. 

“ ‘ Lora was silent concerning a great many things out 
of regard for your peace, and you construed this silence 
into assent,’ I replied, with some spirit. 

“ Edith came in, just here, — she never allowed me to be 
alone with her husband very long, — and he at once 
appealed to her. 

“ ‘ Dear Edith, you can doubtless settle a little point of 
dispute between Francisca and myself, — she insists upon 

N* 


298 


ELEONORE. 


it Lora never had her mother’s jewels, while I know to 
the contrary.’ 

“ Her Excellency was a little discomposed by this 
address, but recovered herself in a moment. 

“ ‘ I thought that matter was determined long ago,’ she 
answered, coolly, — ‘ or do you repent your gift to me V 

“ ‘ It appears I have reason to do so,’ he answered, 
gravely ; ‘ and that 1 may do neither you nor Lora in- 
justice, I will buy these jewels from you ’ 

“‘Then give the money now, Robert!’ she cried, stretch- 
ing out her hand, eagerly. 

“ ‘ No, I shall invest it for you, and you can receive its 
income, — that will be better.’ 

“ Your father was called away at this point, and I sup- 
pose Edith thought he would forget all about it, as had 
been the case with so many similar matters, but she was 
mistaken. The next morning he went to her for the 
jewels, — she quibbled and twisted, trying to evade the 
subject, and at last declared they had been stolen. She 
had not mentioned the robbery because suspicion, most 
naturally, would fall upon her maid, and as the latter, 
in her mistress’s estimation, was quite incapable of such 
a crime, it seemed heartless to speak of it. If your 
mother’s jewels had not been in question, Edith’s tears 
and entreaties to spare her faithful servant would prob- 
ably have prevailed. As it was, he sent for Blanche, 
and charged her with’ the theft, promising if she would 
acknowledge her guilt and restore the property, that 
there should be no notice taken of the offense. The 
girl broke into the most terrible rage, warned the Minis- 
ter not to resort to public measures, since the disgrace in 
that case would fall upon his own wife. She had done 
the bidding of her Excellency faithfully, but she was not 
fool enough to lose her character in the service. Besides, 
she had received only a miserable little pittance for all 
her trouble, — the lion’s share of the spoils having fallen 
to Fräulein Carola, and afterwards to the Herr Baron ; 
but she would not keep still any longer, the Minister 
should know the whole truth. The jew’els were pawned 
the first time to raise money for Fräulein Carola. She, 
Blanche, transacted the business, and had always been 


ELEONORE. 


299 


true to her lady, never abusing her confidence, and obey- 
ing her implicitly at all times. She had even ventured to 
advise her Excellency against the connection with Baron 
Kollner, or the spurious Count, as the servants called him, 
for it had not seemed right to her that the Herr Minister 
should be so deceived. The Herr Baron was continually 
in debt, and her Excellency’s purse was kept drained to 
supply him with money. At last he required a large 
amount to save him from arrest, and she was again com- 
missioned to carry the jewels to a pawnbroker. 

“ By a singular accident I entered Robert’s office at this 
point of her 'story. He was sitting bolt upright in his 
chair, fixed and motionless, with a face so frightfully 
pale, that I could hardly persuade myself he was alive. 
‘ Heaven has sent you, Francisca,’ said he, reaching out 
his hand, — ‘ stay with me while I fathom the abyss of 
sin which this girl has uncovered. What further have 
you to say, and what proof can you give me of the 
truth of your statement V he continued, sternly, to Blanche. 

“ ‘ I have nothing more to say, your Excellency, and the 
truth of what I have told is easily proven by the pawn- 
broker, as well as by the letters of the Herr Baron, 
which my lady keeps in her private casket.’ 

“ ‘ Go to your room, then, and await there my commands. 
But I warn you not to leave it, or hold one word of com- 
munication with any one. 'You have laid yourself liable 
to severe punishment, and I shall not hesitate to deliver 
you over to justice if my orders are infringed upon in the 
slightest. ’ 

“ After she had gone, he told me what had happened, 
adding, in conclusion, ‘ This is the woman whom I con- 
sidered a priceless gift of Heaven, whose love I received 
as a blessing undeserved, and for whom no sacrifice 
on my part was too great. Come, Francisca, you have 
seen my weakness, now I will convince you I am not 
the driveler I have appeared. Don’t think that I dread 
Edith’s fascinations, and therefore call you to my sup- 
port,’ he continued, seeing I hesitated. ‘ I merely desire 
your testimony to the righteousness of my sentence.’ 

“ I followed him to her room ; but let me draw a veil over 
the scene that took place there. I have tolerably strong 


300 


ELEONORE. 


nerves, but I cannot think of it now without a shudder. 
When Edith found that all her arts were powerless, she 
abandoned herself to the most heart-rending despair. 
Your father not only insisted upon a separation, he would 
not even permit her to retain the name which she had so 
dishonored. She was to leave at once for Kronenberg, 
and remain there until the divorce could be obtained. He 
intended to allow her a small annuity for support, but 
only enough to provide for the bare necessities of life. 
When we left her, the unhappy woman lay fainting upon 
the sofa; and yet, the last few hours had wrought such a 
total change in Robert’s feelings, that but for me he would 
have left her there alone. His next step was to write to 
Kollner, demanding Edith’s letters. He ordered him, 
besides, to quit the city immediately, and never to show 
himself in that vicinity again. Prompt measures were 
also taken for the recovery of the jewels. 

“During all this time your father would not permit me 
to leave him, and when evening came I was completely 
worn out with excitement. I had just decided to go home 
for a little rest when Flora burst into the room, screaming 
that her mistress was dying, and begging us to run 
quickly. We found Edith already unconscious, and be- 
fore the physician arrived she had ceased to breathe. Of 
the cause of her death there could be no doubt, — the 
empty bottle by her side revealed it all. This terrible 
tragedy changed Robert’s plans entirely, and he resolved 
as far as possible to conceal the whole affair from the 
world. Had the letter not been sent to Kollner, I think 
he would have allowed the villain to remain where he 
was, lest his disappearance should attract attention ; 
luckily, the Duke has been seized with a sudden desire 
to travel, and, of course, his friend accompanies him. 
Blanche was dismissed, and is to receive a liberal sum 
annually, as long as she lives, provided she never utters 
a syllable concerning her former mistress, — the rest of 
the servants knew nothing of the matter, and will remain. 
There has probably been a good deal of gossip, but it is 
summer, and almost every one is out of town. 

“ After Edith’s death, Hardeck’s letters were found, and 
it was through them that the heaviest blow fell upon your 


ELEONORE. 


301 


father. He felt that yon really loved Hardeck, and had 
sacrificed yourself for his peace. It has made him very 
unhappy, and if you can assure him this is not true, a 
great weight will be lifted from his heart. 

Aunt Francisca paused, and when she continued, her 
voice trembled slightly : “ There is justice in this world, 
after all, Lora. The man whom Edith destined for your 
ruin has proved her own, and I, who in my youth sighed 
over an unrequited affection, will have the joy in old age of 
caring for and comforting the man I loved. Robert has 
requested me to take up my abode with him hereafter, and 
I have consented to do so. I shall not be much ornament 
to his establishment, but may, perhaps, contribute more to 
his genuine happiness than did the beautiful young wife. 
At the capital every one knows the old Countess Francisca, 
and it will be considered quite in the natural course of 
things that I should find a home with my bereaved cousin.” 

I seized the first opportunity to correct my father’s false 
impression concerning Hardeck, and it really seemed a 
great relief to him. His love for me spoke everywhere, — 
I was again the centre of his affection, the idol of his 
heart, and he sought in every way to atone for the wrong 
he had done me. Waldenstein was my only rival, and 
to him I yielded joyfully. Aunt’s delight at having her 
Robert with her after so long a separation was unbounded, 
and she would not hear to his departure until after my 
marriage. During those happy days, Helen was often 
with us, always bringing sunshine with her, and beguil- 
ing my father’s serious face into many a smile. Her mother, 
too, was a great favorite with him. Suffering had tuned 
their souls to the same key, and he found in her a most 
congenial companion. To my surprise I learned Fran- 
cisca was an old friend of Frau von Niederstadt. 

“ Why did you never tell me of this acquaintance ?” I 
asked one day, as they sat talking over old scenes and 
associations. 

“ Because I was at swords’ points with her brother,” 
replied the Countess ; “ but I’ve forgiven him now, you 
see. Do you know, Therese,” she continued, to the latter, 
“ I have made a most charming plan for your future ? Of 
course you cannot remain where you are, — you would 

26 


302 


ELEONORE. 


die of ennui , — and so I have consigned you to dear Aunt 
Rutwitz as a reward for all her love and kindness. She ' 
is delighted at the idea, but fears there is no such good 
fortune in store for her.’’ 

“ I have thought myself of exchanging places with 
Lora,’’ replied Frau von Niederstadt ; “ but I did not 
dare propose it.” 

“Well, you see now how good it is to have Francisca 
about. You can be as cosy here as two pigeons, — my 
quondam admirer, the general, will, no doubt, often 
make a third in your circle, and the happy pair may 
sometimes condescend to visit you, — really, the prospect 
is so enchanting I am tempted to forswear the city and 
join you.” 

“No, don’t do that. Aunt Francisca,” interrupted 
Waldenstein ; “ for Lora and I expect to spend our 
winters at the capital, and we should miss you sadly.” 

What Waldenstein meant by this answer I learned 
when we were alone. 

“ My life here, Eleonore, although useful, does not 
satisfy ray ambition. I long for a broader and more 
comprehensive field of activity. But I could not think 
of entering public life while my own private affairs were 
in an unsettled condition. Your large dowry relieves me 
entirely from financial embarrassment, and your father 
agrees with me that I may now honorably lend my name 
and services to the state. I shall, therefore, seek an 
election to the Chamber of Deputies, and I may say, 
without vanity, that the result is certain. This will pave 
the way for something better, and I shall, in time, find a 
position to my mind.” 

“ And is your sensitive, manly pride not offended by 
this magnificent dowry, Hugo ?” I asked, playfully. 

“No, my darling,” he answered, drawing me fondly to 
him ; “ for I have ceased to see in you and me two per- 
sons, and when I say Du, I only mean the fairer side of 
Ich.^' 

There is but little to add. The wish of my husband 
was not long in finding its fulfillment. He won nobly 
the distinction for which he sighed, and his name is 
known and respected throughout the whole country. But 


ELEONORE. 


303 


his extended duties abroad have never won his heart from 
me, and the light of our home glows steady and un- 
dimmed. My father is always our most honored guest, 
and he has grown young and light-hearted again in the 
grandchildren who clamber upon his knee and dispute 
with their mother his first caress. As I look back over 
my life, I thank God chiefly for the suffering. Its 
ministry has been to me the truest, its teachings the 
most valuable. The dark days so mellowed the ground 
of my character, that the seeds of happiness have sprouted, 
and#growu healthfully, strongly. 1 can stand now by my 
husband his companion, his equal, his genuine helpmeet, 
while to me he represents the satisfaction of all earthly 
needs. This counterpart action, this mutual dependence, 
finds its way into all the details of our experience, and 
we are in reality, what every wedded pair ought to be, 
not twain, but one flesh. 


THE END. 





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